


Rain Is Falling, Looks Like Love

by PearlyDewdrops



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Drinking, Fluff, M/M, Mention of recreational drug use, Misunderstandings, Record Shops, Some pining, Swearing, a smidgen of angst, and a lit soundtrack if i do say so myself, but this is mostly fluff, idk how to tag this really, lots of britishisms because i am, silly boys falling in love, some jealousy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-20
Updated: 2016-06-20
Packaged: 2018-07-11 03:53:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 30,851
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7027420
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PearlyDewdrops/pseuds/PearlyDewdrops
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Louis Tomlinson has a pretty ordinary life. He works in a small record shop in the heart of Manchester, shares a flat with a boisterous Irishman, is being pestered to date by his best friend Liam, and has a mind that's far too restless to settle for anything less than an adventure.</p><p>Enter Harry Styles, a boy with galaxies in his eyes, flowers in his hair and an unspoken promise to give Louis exactly that.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Rain Is Falling, Looks Like Love

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, peeps!! :)
> 
> I'm not even sure what this is but I was going for a fluffy sorta, indie rom-com style story (because real life sucks right now and I want to drown in fluff and cliches. It's nicer here), which is very self-indulgent on my part, particularly with all the song references I kept making, and I probably failed but I tried lmao.
> 
> I wrote the first half months ago and decided to turn it into a longer fic. But hopefully it still reads okay and there aren't too many mistakes!
> 
> Title is taken from 'Look Up' by Stars :)

 

 

Louis currently has three things pressing on his mind:

  1. His trash can of a car is well and truly done in.
  2. He needs his bed, like. Right. Now.
  3. He’s very probably going to die of hypothermia; it’s that  _cold_. (Liam is  _not_ getting his collectible vinyls.)



“You have got to be joking,” Louis deadpans. He gives the key in the ignition one last try.

Nothing.

Louis groans. “Is it too much to ask for a break today?”

Apparently so.

Louis silently curses whatever cruel forces are responsible for the shitty daylight hours he’s endured today, delivering a mighty whack to his steering wheel (as if enacting physical hostility towards an inanimate object will get it to start again—well, it might?) Louis flinches and barks out another “fuck” and a “shit” while cradling the back of his palm pitifully to his chest.

Now with a half-dead hand that's throbbing profusely, along with shivering limbs and a pounding headache, Louis starts muttering another assortment of colourful obscenities, body sagging with defeat into the driver's seat, and wrapped up in an a heavy layer of exhausted frustration that never seems to quite dwindle these days.

There's been a dreadfully high number of shitty days he's had the displeasure of experiencing lately.

But other than that.

Louis Tomlinson leads a mostly ordinary, uneventful life, and he's fine with it. That's just what happens to most of the seven billion human beings on the planet, isn't it? We exist. Our hearts beat. We breathe in and out. Sleep. Work. Eat. Repeat.

Oh wow. That's a depressing thought he'd rather not dwell on.

He wants that something extra. Not tons of money (though it'd be nice and he could really do with some more), or a big fancy house, or an outrageously blue Lamborghini. He wants something else. Something more. Something that makes him excited to start the day again. Something that makes him laugh until his stomach hurts. Something that quietens down his loud mind, perhaps. Maybe. Or not. It's...whatever.

But see, Louis’ mind is far too restless and noisy to settle for a life that's anything less than chaotic at this point. Which it kind of is—what with his life mainly consisting of a messy pile of Things he has to tick off his equally shambolic mental list.

Noise, noise, noise.

That's what Louis’ mind is made of.

He's always too busy thinking, analyzing, wondering. It's always has been the same. Louis' never been one to be able to sit still or not have someone's attention sitting in the palm of his hand. He’s forever filled to the brim with thoughts and spontaneous ideas, and would much rather live in the moment, as it were, than to have to rinse and repeat the same routine over and over again. Louis thrives in chaos, in the madness of life, longs to float in a pool of pandemonium. (Though, when one is out partying with his roommate Niall, it isn't that far off to be fair.)

But alas, he is usually sitting behind a desk, his mind uncomfortably numb, chewing absently on a pen, and scowling discreetly at pre-teens who come into the store to purchase the new album of the latest bunch of pretentious brats—ones who think they're the bees knees, merely because they can strum a guitar (eye roll). Therefore the kids who follow them end up under the impression that they’re actually buying hardcore Punk Rock. Ahem. Oh, children. Not that he's a music snob, far from it, but at least acknowledge the actual genre you're listening to for what it is.

(Alright, maybe he's just a little bit pretentious.)

Because Louis works in a tiny vintage record shop that sits on the corner of a side road in Manchester, and they're lucky to even get about six customers a day, as of late.

It does have its perks, though. He loves it really, but it only just barely pays the rent, so he really does need to find a better job, or at least sign up for more hours. Not that he’s not working full time these days, anyway. (Thanks, Liam).

Louis just doesn’t feel much like he’s actually living, you see, doesn’t think he’s taking full advantage of his golden years.

So you could say Louis’ a little lost. And very much in danger of turning into a twenty-two year old elderly lady. What with having developed an obsession with collecting every new flavour of scented candle he can find, and as you can probably guess, it's hardly a riveting conversation starter if he wants to snag a rare date with a fit boy (Liam's set up blind date for tomorrow doesn't count. Who knows how that'll turn out. Dismally, Louis’ guessing. Dates are such awkwardly contrived social gatherings. Ugh).

But it's not that he's got a bad life, don't get him wrong. Not at all. Louis’ got his mates, his music, his sisters. But there's something missing, something itching beneath his skin, seeping just atop the surface that he'd really like to get rid of—or find out what it is he’s looking for, at least.

Louis yearns for an adventure—whatever shape that adventure may take. Simple as.

Sitting here in his car now, he hasn’t long finished a particularly lengthy shift at the shop. It’s a comforting little nook, familiar, his safe haven. Listening to his favourite bands all day long and recommending them to the sparse customers who visit their tiny music refuge in the heart of Manchester—well, it’s not a hardship exactly.

Unless a massive pipe bursts just minutes before you're due to leave, and soaks through the entirety of their flooring and their ugly ancient beige carpets, forcing Louis to single-handedly remove every stack of records in the shop’s vicinity.

And since Liam was nowhere to be found (having failed to pick up any of the eighteen missed calls he’d left, which is more often than not these days. Really, that boy. He’s 98% sure he’s off playing Romeo), Louis was also stuck with the hefty mission of having to rummage through hundreds of vinyls and re-alphabetise them—seeing as they’d managed to topple over and splay all over the road.

Louis had to literally dodge the jaws of death, which took the shape of the bonnet of a massive posh jeep to save a copy of The Beach Boy’s 1966 hit record ‘Pet Sounds’. (It’s one of his favourites and he’d have cried blood if this rare original copy had been run over and smashed to tiny music royalty pieces.)

All the while, Louis was working in unbearably tedious silence because their own record player had decided to choose today to snuff it (a record shop without a  _record_  player???). Which was typical.

He’d screamed bloody murder upon discovering this fact after trying to soak up the water with the only (completely useless) mop and bucket they had, and managing to startle an old lady who was passing by the open shop door in the process (poor, love).

Louis lined the pavement up with soggy cardboard boxes and other equipment he had managed to salvage from the Biblical flood that had just nearly destroyed his livelihood—the annoying grumbles of his stomach and his frustrated sighs the only soundtrack he had to work with, in the place of New Order’s greatest hits. (‘Regret’ is his current favourite.)

Then of course as he shut up shop, not having left until almost nine by now, he got a call from his younger sister Lottie, begging him for a lift for herself and her friends because the bus still hadn’t turned up. It was freezing outside and the thought of his sister standing there shivering in the cold without more than a flimsy bomber jacket to keep her warm shot him into action. They were going into town to some flashy nightclub (of course) and so like the good older brother he was, he drove Lottie and her friends into town—which consisted of three other bubbly girls in their sleek finery and the rudest prat he’d come across in a while (he would have stern words later if this bloke turned out to be Lottie’s boyfriend)—and bid her a safe, fun night, earning him a lipstick smack on his cheek, making sure she had a ride home later (she was staying at her friend’s tonight, so thankfully he didn't need to worry about picking her up at gone four in the morning).

At least there were a few pleasures left he could still enjoy. He needed his beauty sleep, alright??

When Louis had finally, finally arrived home around ten, weary-limbed and desperate to stuff his face with whatever rubbish they had in the fridge, itching to collapse into bed, he rudely discovered the fridge was completely fucking empty. Even though  _somebody—_ that ruddy cheeked, snoring Irish oaf, Niall—had been given  _specific_ instructions to fill it with fresh stuff multiple times this morning.

And Niall had not. Which was unacceptable. The lazy bastard has the memory of a goldfish.

So sadly it was Louis' job to go shopping.

Again.

(Thank the lord for twenty-four hour supermarkets.)

Yep, his turn for the fifth time in a row, despite said Irish oaf being the main consumer of all food products present in their dingy (even though he should be at his lectures most of the time), shoebox sized flat with a carpet that’s painted with a collection of questionable stains (most of which he sincerely hopes are just cheese and chive dip), a sofa that's almost too painful to sit on anymore as the springs practically burst through the thin fabric, and a weird unpleasant damp smell that seems to have gotten worse over the last few months.

Louis' so grossed out by it, he spends a fortune on every type of scented candle and pretty air freshener he can get his hands on, and thus his quirky obsession with collecting at least one of every new scent of candle he comes across (white jasmine is his current favourite) was born. It gives the flat a bit more of a cosy, homey feel, at least. He also likes to brighten it up by taking a lot of colour Polaroid pictures and sticking them everywhere and anywhere he can fit them.

Anyway.

So off he went, absolutely ecstatic to be out in the freezing arctic winds late night food shopping, seconds away from collapsing right there in the frozen goods aisle. He paid for his stuff (including a massive bar of Dairy Milk chocolate that Niall is in no way getting his greedy hands on), trudged back to the car, and now he’s sitting here asking a higher being what the hell he did for this bastard car to refuse to start up for him. He could actually cry.

So all in all, he’s had a pretty awful day.

Louis groans, and slumps back in the driver’s seat, letting his head fall against the headrest, allowing himself to flicker in and out of consciousness a bit, the long day catching up with him. He could go back inside Asda and ask for an AA number (since he doesn't have one stored in the glove compartment it seems), but he knows the car’s had it for good. No point paying for repairs for a car that’s as good as done in. He yawns, burying his freezing hands in the front pocket of his hoodie. He’ll just sleep and wait until the morning, lets his eyelids fall shut.

A car alarm immediately puts an end to that idea.

He rubs his eyes a little too robustly, ending up making them sorer than they were to begin with, itchy and stinging from tiredness and Louis pulls out his phone, desperate for his own bed to collapse in. Maybe he’ll just wake up Niall and get him to call one of his mate’s to pick him up.

But he’s got no signal. Fuck's sake. He bites his bottom lip, worrying it with his teeth and whimpers a silent plea to the universe to send help.

Pulling down his oversized grey hoodie sleeves over his hands, he wraps his arms around himself, sitting in miserable silence and contemplating his chances of not dying during the night from hypothermia if he has to spend it in this Asda car park until morning. And in this frost. God, it might even snow it’s that cold.

And Louis forgot a fucking coat.

He’ll try Niall again once his phone signal miraculously decides to come back. He can't remember if there are any phones inside the supermarket or ones near the cash points, but eh, he can barely move as it is. He just about reaches over with a great amount of effort to switch on his radio and  _Slide Away_  by Oasis comes on.

Okay, so the car won’t start but the radio works. So there is some good will that the universe is prepared to allow Louis. Cheers, universe.

Still though. Louis is pissed off, tired and hungry.

Rummaging through the shopping bags, Louis pulls out a packet of Oreos, munching on them one by one, working on finishing the whole packet.

Once he's done, Louis strums his fingers on the steering wheel as he sits in his broken down car, a deep scowl glued to his face and Oasis blasting from his shitty radio’s speakers. Oh well. There doesn’t seem to be many cars around anyway, and Asda is practically deserted inside since it’s almost eleven now.

It’s just Louis tonight who’s decided to do his late night shopping then, only to be rewarded for his productiveness with his car refusing to fucking start and to top it all off, they’d run out of Yorkshire Tea! And he’s freezing his knackered arse off in what feels like stupid minus degrees. Louis supposes that’s what he gets for going out on an unusually cold November night in just a hoodie, no t-shirt underneath, no socks, his bare ankles shaking in a pair of rolled up tight jeggings. Idiot. He knows this.

No. Actually. Niall. He's to blame for all this. Yep, completely Niall's fault. He can pay for this repair as well, seeing as he borrows it all the time, and without paying for petrol. Cheeky shit.

So while Louis waits hopelessly for his phone to pick up a signal so he can call a bloody breakdown service (he really could just go inside and ask but he just can’t be arsed to move can he?), he chain smokes a newly bought packet of cigarettes in a jaded haze of sullenness and perpetual disdain for basically everything in existence as of right now.

He’s just about to give up and climb into the back seat to sleep the rest of the night off until morning, music still blaring out of his speakers at an obnoxious volume, when he’s rudely interrupted by the violent slam of a car door just two parking spots down from his.

The sight of a long-haired young man in a lengthy, black coat and black booted heels, a leaf printed, burgundy scarf draped around his neck, hanging dangerously close to his feet instantly grabs hold of Louis’ attention.

Baby Tarzan (because that’s exactly who he looks like) kicks at his car somewhat feebly, letting out a brusque grunt, his young, soft features highlighted in shadows by the supermarket’s bright lights, but his brows are practically denting his face as he frowns deeply, running a hand through his unruly head of dark waves.

Louis can't help it if his gaze gets a little preoccupied with such a pretty face, despite the major grumpy kitten look he's got going on.

But then the boy snaps his head up and over to his left. Exactly in the direction of Louis.

Correction.  _At_ Louis, who has his arm half dangling out the driver’s seat window now that he’s reluctantly rolled down to smoke out of, and taps his cigarette mid-air. The other  _boy_  (because he doesn't look much older than twenty really) has apparently (and why wouldn’t he) registered the loud music and he's staring right at Louis, unblinking.

Maybe it's Louis' wishful thinking or overactive imagination that the boy's face softens upon seeing Louis, the petulant scowl having vanished and melted into one of wide-eyed curiosity.

Louis diverts his eyes, attempting to act disinterested and focusing his gaze ahead, using his left hand to discreetly turn down the volume to a more acceptable decibel. His right hand pops the cigarette back between his lips, adjusting his sweater paws because he's realised he's likely coming across as an inconsiderate git at the moment.

Smoking with his hood up and listening to Oasis at an extremely loud volume hardly screams pleasant and approachable, right? All he needs now is an open can of lagar and he'd look like a right chav. He probably looks like a scruffy mess directly adjacent from this Burberry Model. Which is probably exactly what it he is, because he looks like he’s walked straight off the pages of a Burberry catalogue or some other designer fashion label.

Louis feels quite inadequate. Especially as Louis is usually one to take great pride in his appearance, and if he could afford it, he’d rock his actual fashion sense. (He silently thanks himself for wearing jeggings rather than trackie bottoms though). Cringing, he takes in one last inhale and then stubs it out in his car’s tiny compartment that, frankly, is a poor excuse for an ashtray and embarrassingly full.

Out of his peripherals, Louis can see the boy staring back at him, still as a statue. Louis’s now weirdly sensitive to the fact he might scare him away with any sudden movements—as if he were a fucking deer caught in headlights—but all he knows is, for some reason, he doesn’t want him to leave. (It may have something to do with how pretty this boy is. 'May' being the key word.)

He dares another quick glance and is greeted by Burberry Model's pretty, boyish face, eyes still on Louis.

Louis is painfully aware his cheeks are starting to burn underneath the boy’s unwavering gaze, but before he can roll up his window and get on with resting his bleary eyes and aching limbs until morning (and perhaps dream about the hot model standing a few feet away... maybe), Burberry Model is now slowly moving towards him, like a hesitant mouse, hunched down a bit as though he’s trying to make himself appear smaller. It’s quite cute. Really cute, actually. For almost a whole three seconds, Louis forgets he’s freezing his bones off and perhaps risking losing a toe to frostbite the longer he camps out here in his broken down car, sitting in the middle of a supermarket car park at night, reflecting on his pitiful existence.

And then the vision that is Burberry Model stops in front of his window, eyes wide with curiosity.

“That Oasis you’ve got on?” he asks in a deep, raspy drawl, the music now down to a quiet background volume, song almost ending.

“You would be correct,” Louis says, his voice a little hoarse from disuse for most of the day.

Burberry Model’s mouth twitches infinitesimally into a small smile, just a slight quirk in the corners of his raspberry pink lips. Louis' eyes wander to them, gulps heartily. Shit. Too obvious. “Thought so,” Burberry Model/Baby Tarzan says with a sniff, cheeks flushed a rosy shade from the cold. He shoves his hands into his coat pockets, hiding the tip of his chin, burying it beneath his scarf. He looks adorably snug. “You could probably here that all the way from the Yorkshire Moors,” he quips.

“Hey,” Louis drawls, amused. “It’s not  _that_  loud." It was. "You do exaggerate. Anyway, I’ve turned it down now, haven’t I? Proved myself to be a respectable member of society and all that shit.”

The other boy snorts, widens his eyes and feigns a cough with a ringed fist over his mouth.

“Well, um, that one is my favourite actually,” he says quietly, sincere green eyes gazing at Louis’, which are surprisingly intense, and really quite lovely.

The song finishes, and the opening to  _Ceremony_  by New Order begins to strum in the background.

Louis clears his throat with an awkward cough, embarrassingly unable to look away. “Yeah?" 

Burberry Model nods.

" _Slide Away_  is one of my favourites too. It wasn’t even a single but still a classic though." Louis watches as the boy's face spreads into an easy smile, one that's so bright and innocent that angels are probably singing somewhere.

"Yeah, I know," the boy agrees, zealously. "It just perfectly captures that 90’s Britpop aesthetic, I think. You know, lazying about in the sun at Glastonbury," his voice is deep and rumbling, and Louis hangs onto every syllable that leaves his mouth, "meeting your first love in the crowd, and all that drinking cider in round framed sunglasses, and of course, getting absolutely shitfaced on it," the other boy smirks.

"Speaking from experience?” Louis teases.

“Hardly. I was six when the nineties ended,” Burberry Model chuckles.

Louis smiles, close-mouthed, transfixed with how utterly gorgeous this boy is as he stares back at him. 

Louis stares just as intently right back. “Well, sometimes the best things in life are the hidden gems, aren’t they? The things that not everyone might know about, the things that might not be the most popular or the most loved even, but are maybe the most special, you know?" Louis has no idea what he's saying but green eyes are watching him intently, nodding along as though he's the most interesting person in the world.

"Because they get forgotten," the other boy adds.

"Yeah. Exactly," Louis grins. "So they have to appreciated all the more to make up for it."

Suddenly Burberry Model moves closer until he's crouching down on his long legs, his upper body just below Louis’ eye line, his hands still firmly in his coat pockets, so close to the window. So close actually, that Louis can feel his warm, minty breath tickle his face and suddenly Louis is very, very aware of this boy’s gorgeously lit, subdued green eyes, practically glowing in the artificial light. A cluster of chocolate drenched curls frame his face, actual ringlets falling at the ends around his cherubic, prettier-than-a-goddamn-flower features, but somehow he also manages to give off the impression that he could just as easily be capable of pounding Louis into the mattress, hips moving frantically as Louis grips the headboard, mouth falling open...

 _Oh my God_.

Well, that was a thought dirtier than he expected.

Jesus.

And yet.

He still can’t stop staring at his the sharp angles of his jawline, and it must be obvious because those impossibly pink, plump lips are curving into a toothy grin.

“Sorry. I’m staring, aren’t I?” Louis widens his eyes and rolls them once, focusing his gaze down at his shivering ice blocks for feet.

The other boy laughs softly, shaking out a full body shiver himself, his cherubic features crinkling into a brief grimace, eyelashes fluttering. Louis accidentally sighs audibly. His mouth is a traitor. 

“Yeah, definitely,” he rumbles slowly, almost dazedly. “About the hidden gems, I mean,” he corrects quickly, shaking his head with a smile. “Not that songs like  _Wonderwall_  aren’t well deserved classics too but I... I really like the lyrics of that one. They’re really hopeful and nostalgic and it just feels like you’re infinite and can make it through anything, you know?” he pauses, eyes never leaving Louis’. Boy, this one likes his eye contact, “and the riff at the beginning is just—” He makes an obscene face that verges on orgasmic as his eyes fall shut, mouth parting slightly.

Louis stares, mouth agape. “No, I agree,” he blurts. “They're a fantastic band. Iconic. One for the ages. But Noel's a bit of a massive twat though, isn't he? Always shooting his mouth off about someone or other. I mean, what jumped up his arsehole and back out again? How can one person be so miserable?”

Harry bursts out laughing, proper hearty cackles tumbling from his lips, his whole face scrunching up in delight, eyes wide. Louis can feel his own eyes crinkling in the corners as he watches Harry do a full body shake and takes note of his two adorably shaped front teeth. He's sweet. Genuine. A cute baby cherub, and just simply watching this boy is probably the most exciting thing Louis' done in months.

“Rockstars, eh?” Burberry Model sighs, mockingly raising his eyebrows. Louis tracks the movement of his creamy large hand tucking a stray curl behind his ear. And Louis sorta, really wants to do that himself. “Well, you’ve got great taste in music anyway, is what I wanted to say," he smiles lopsided, a little shyly and scrunches up his nose.

“Well, thanks,” Louis says. “Although I am partial to the occasional boyband tune too."

Louis catches the smirk he’s trying and failing to hide, dipping his chin further down into his scarf. 

"Oi, don’t knock it,” Louis says in a teasing, drawn out tone as Burberry Model grins wide and cheesy and ugh. This boy is just so endearing.

“I didn’t say anything!” Burberry insists, tipping his head to the side, slipping his hand into his long hair and ruffling it a bit, touching the ends absently. “I love a bit of Take That, me. I reckon Howard is the best one," he adds.

"Obviously," Louis agrees, arching an eyebrow then laughing breathily before there’s a short silence and both boys just stare at the other, coy and tentative, blue eyes firmly locked with green. He notices the other boy is shivering still, shoulders hunched as he stands up and briskly bounces a bit on his tip toes.

And Louis doesn’t know where it comes from or what he’s thinking when he asks, “You wanna sit with me for a bit?”

When the boy hesitates, eyes finally leaving Louis’, Louis scrambles to correct himself—the last thing he wants is to come off as a creepy stranger inviting him into his car late at night. “Sorry. That was a bit forward, weren’t it? I mean—you just look cold,” he hurries out. “I’m not a nutcase, I promise! It’s just... well, my car’s broken down and I’ve got no signal on my phone and—”

“Oh, shit,” he says, eyeing the car with concern. “Well, I’d call the AA for you, but my phone battery died about five minutes ago. Sorry,” he winces, and he looks so apologetic, grimacing at Louis as though he is personally responsible for Louis’ trash can of a car letting him down once again. A literal stranger, Louis reminds himself. “But I can go inside and ask someone for a phone? I was gonna pop in there anyway—”

Louis laughs, taken aback by his sincerity. “Oh no, don’t be silly, mate! You’re alright. You’ve probably got some late night shopping to get done yourself. Don’t let an idiot like me keep you. But thanks anyways though," he says through a beaming smile.

“I’m not really here to buy anything, actually,” he says, a timid, lopsided smile travelling up his dimpled cheek.

“You just fancied a late night kip in a supermarket car park then?” Louis teases.

“No,” he smiles, then it diffuses into a frown again. “I’ve um— pretty much been driving around aimlessly for a good couple of hours now. I don’t really know what I’m doing here to be honest,” he sighs, standing up, his right boot fidgeting on the concrete. "Just needed somewhere to park and think for a while. Or maybe I just had a weird craving for ice cream. I’d have to buy a packet of plastic spoons to eat it with though...” he ponders.

“How come?” Louis frowns.

“Well, I’ve not got a spoon with me,” he says seriously.

“No, I mean, why are you driving around on your own? If that’s not too personal? Sorry, I’m too nosy. Feel free to tell me to mind my own business.”

“Nah," he says softly. "It’s fine. I just...” he drifts off, features hardening, before relaxing into something akin to a calm, yet defeated acceptance. Louis frowns deeper. “I don’t want to go home right now,” he says after a few beats. "Not just yet."

“Okay,” Louis nods, and he gets it. He does. Sometimes Louis drives around at night to clear his head, trying to block out everything with the fresh, midnight air with the windows down, drowning himself in the bright glowing lights of the traffic and headlights and streetlamps. Using them to forget all the messy thoughts clouding his mind. Wishing for a different future he so desperately wants. That extra something that makes life a little bit more exciting.

“Yeah,” he says, presses his lips together, shoulders hunched up and buries his chin into his scarf again. “But I guess... uhm. I might take you up on that offer of sitting with you though? At least for a bit. You know, if that’s okay?” he says, unsure, eyes staring down at the ground for a brief moment and then meeting Louis’ gaze once more.

“Of course it’s okay. I asked  _you_ , didn’t I—um?"

"Harry," he smiles. "It’s Harry."

 _Harry_.

Louis can’t help but grin. He doesn’t even remember the last time he genuinely grinned properly recently. His mood has seemingly perked up more than it ever does on even his best days—a rarity though they are at the moment, struggling to get through the daily tribulations of life.

“Well, hop in,” Louis says brightly as he reaches over to unlock the passenger door. Then stops, turns back toward him, making a show of arching his eyebrows. “Unless you’re planning on murdering me tonight?”

Harry releases a childlike giggle, and it might just be the cutest fucking thing Louis has ever had the pleasure of hearing in his life. “I promise I’m not. Although it would make sense. You know, to pick on someone smaller than me. If that was my goal. Killing and such,” he smirks, self-satisfied.

“Oi!” Louis squawks. “You’re not that much bigger than me," he pouts, indignant. "You’ve just got freakishly long limbs. And you know what, I’m not sure your word means enough to me if I’m honest. Did you know you have an unnerving stare like a serial killer?

“Hey!” he drawls. Harry hums for a moment, thinking. “What if I pinky promise?” he says, biting his lip happily, holding out his little finger to hook around Louis’ through Louis’ window.

“I pinky promise I will not try to kill you or maim you in any way," Harry announces. 

Louis holds out his own little finger immediately.

“Oh, well then. That's settled then, Harry. This is a binding promise. You definitely can’t kill me now. We've made an unbreakable vow. And you know what happens when one breaks an unbreakable vow, don’t you?”

"Absolutely," Harry nods seriously. Louis holds his smirk.

They link their pinky fingers together in a gentle grip, the contact sending tiny sparks of heat through Louis' hand, and he dazedly thinks it sort of, maybe, feels like the start of something.

Butterflies are currently doing fucking somersaults in the pit of his stomach.

“I’m Louis, by the way. Thought I’d introduce myself before you enter a complete stranger’s car and all that."

“Louis,” Harry repeats slowly, tunefully, testing it on his tongue. Louis’ stomach drops like elevator three floors at the sound of his name in Harry’s mouth.

Ahem. Okay, then.

"I like that name. It's nice. Like a prince’s,” Harry smiles, proud.

Louis barks out a laugh and Harry chuckles out one of his own, a gorgeous dimple denting each cheek.

“So is your name! Quite literally, only you're not ginger. My name however belongs to a king. Many kings. Lots of French ones, I believe," he points out, grinning, lifting his chin up haughtily. His face is starting to ache actually with all the smiling happening.

“Ah, you're right. May I enter your carriage King Louis?” Harry asks, mimicking a French accent. He sounds ridiculous. Where did he come from?

“Yes you may, young squire,” Louis plays along.

“I thought I was a prince!”

“Oh my God,” Louis laughs. “Just get in before I change my mind.”

Harry swiftly makes his way round the other side of the car and slips into the passenger’s seat, content and completely at ease, like he’s got in Louis’ car a hundred times before. He gets in gracefully, his long legs bent a bit awkwardly in Louis' tiny car, placing his large, ringed hands atop his lap, body tilted toward Louis expectantly, excitedly even.

Louis should be kind of concerned with how easily Harry seems to trust him enough to sit in his car alone with him already. Maybe he should mention that he hopes this is not a regular thing on Harry's part since it's kind of dangerous. Then again, he knows his car is fucked so it's not like he can drive away with him in it.

But anyway, Harry may have just saved this treacherous night for Louis.

So, yes, he’s going to run with this, and see where the night takes them, see if it was meant to be, bumping into Harry. You know, if he was into all that sappy, fate shit.

(Which, yeah, he is, actually.)

“Well, Harry, I’m glad you have a name. Thought I was going to have to actually start calling you Burberry Model or something.”

“What?” Harry laughs, taken aback. “Well," he says after a beat, "it’s funny you should say that. This scarf is actually Burberry.” His hand smoothes over the silky fabric.

“What?” Louis squeaks. “Isn’t that thing like eight hundred pounds or a price tag just as disgustingly expensive?”

Harry nods sheepishly. “S’not mine though! It’s a friend’s. She let me borrow it.”

“Is she fucking rich?”

“She’s quite well-off, I guess,” Harry confirms nonchalantly, shrugging. “But she’s the one with the part-time modelling contract, not me,” he smiles.

“Bloody hell, Harry. For a student she’s not exactly struggling then, is she?” He pauses, studying the glossy sheen of Harry’s eyes in the dim lighting of the front seats, seemingly fascinated by every word out of Louis’ mouth.

He's practically bathing in Harry's attention right now.

“We share a student house though with a couple other people. We both attend Manchester University.”

“No way! I went to uni at Manchester too,” he nudges Harry’s arm with a probably softer than necessary touch of his hand.

“Oh yeah?” Harry smiles wider, eyebrows raised in delighted surprise.

“Yeah. Studied Performing Arts and Creative Writing. Graduated about a year ago now. Ah, the disappointing life of a post-grad student. It all goes depressingly downhill after graduation I’m afraid, young Harold. What year are you in?”

“I started my second year this September.”

“What are you there for?”

“Law,” Harry drawls, rolling his eyes a bit.

Louis gives an impressed raise of an eyebrow. “Wow. Planning on being a top notch lawyer then, Curly?”

“Not really,” Harry smirks at the nickname, shaking his head. “Something sensible to fall back on though, isn’t it? It’s not like writing songs is the most reliable option I could have come up with for a career, or the easiest thing to get going,” he says dryly.

“You write songs?” Louis sits up keenly.

Harry nods, coy and sheepish, as though he’s bracing himself to be laughed at, which Louis thinks is unfortunately a frequent occurrence. He frowns at the idea of someone laughing at Harry’s passion and telling him it’s going to get him nowhere in life, a stupid career path, much like he’s been told himself.

“Yeah, I kind of love it. Been writing since I was about sixteen. The goal is to get one playing on the radio at least at some point before I die,” he laughs, bashful and maybe a bit pleased that Louis seems interested. He  _is_  interested though.

A lot interested.

“That’s amazing, Harry,” he says, genuinely impressed. “Maybe you could play me one of your songs sometime?” he smiles encouragingly, nudges him again, this time with his elbow. He really is quite keen to hear one. Harry looks like the thoughtful, creative type, he thinks. “I actually work in a record shop. I could be playing one of your songs in the near future,” he smiles, sincere.

“Maybe,” Harry says quietly, bashful.

Harry shifts in his seat, eyes on Louis, amusement tugging at his lopsided, ribbon mouth. “So you work in a record shop? That’s really cool. You  like music then I gather?”

“ _Love_ music. It’s like my passion, I suppose.”

“Mine too,” Harry hums.

They stare at each other quietly for a few moments while Louis’ heart rate is steadily speeding up, feeling his cheeks warm up again under the intensity of Harry’s stare.

Wow, this is stressful. Louis hasn’t been this attracted to someone in who knows how long. It’s horrid.

“What made you think I was a model anyway?” Harry suddenly asks, light, casual.

And isn’t that just a smooth change of subject.

Louis frowns dubiously, a smirk teasing at his lips, eyes narrowed. “Oh, please, Harry. I know when someone’s fishing for compliments.” Harry giggles, curling his back down the seat lower. Louis sighs exaggeratedly. “Well, I don’t know if you’re aware, Curly, but you’re strikingly attractive. All the designer brands out there would love to have you working for them. They’d all be fighting each other to dress you up in their finest, falling over their lethal high heels to get that gorgeous face on a billboard. I guarantee they’d be beating each other off with a stick.”

Wait. That last bit sounded a bit wrong.

Harry’s manic grin softens into a look of blushing doubt, if by the way he’s now searching Louis' face closely is anything to go by. “You think?” he says softly, nose crinkling and another gentle smile twists his raspberry pink, frankly blowjob lips.

“Uhm, yeah?” Louis affirms enthusiastically. Harry smirks. “Oh, come on. You’re bloody gorgeous, don’t pretend you don’t know.” Louis rolls his eyes.

“Eh,” he shrugs, feigning indifference. The little shit. "You’re not too shabby looking yourself. Even if you do kind of look like a small, sleepy hedgehog.”

“Oi!” he squeaks, indignant, playfully shoving Harry’s arm. Harry's eyes are wide and round with elated surprise, seemingly unconsciously grabbing for Louis’ wrist.

“Hedgehogs are cute!” he protests. They’re so tiny and adorable,” Harry insists, gesturing an small imaginary creature with his large hands, cooing.

Wow.

“Watch it! Or you can go back to your own car, thanks," Louis warns, secretly highly amused.

“Nah, I’m fine here,” Harry says brightly, green eyes practically glowing in shadows in the cramped space of the front seats.

Louis clears his throat, realising he's been staring a bit too long without saying anything and reaches to turn on the fan heater. It doesn’t work. Of course. He makes a disgruntled face.

“But you are pretty too, by the way,” Harry continues. “Like, really gorgeous," Harry rumbles, eyes soft.

Louis glances up to look at him.

"Your eyes are a really nice blue, kind of like a greeny blue in this light, or lack of,” Harry adds thoughtfully, leaning in closer, seemingly inspecting and tracing every contour of Louis’ face with his attentive, unguarded gaze. Louis swallows, body gone rigid. “You’ve got really nice cheekbones."

Cheekbones. Okay.

So now things seem to have progressed into a lovefest of each other’s aesthetically pleasing features.

Alright then.

Louis is sitting with a beautiful boy who he’s only just met in his broken down car,  in the middle of a supermarket car park late at night, freezing his arse off and yet Louis doesn't wish he was anywhere else.

At all.

Huh. This is. Well. Louis has no idea what this is.

And Harry might be the sweetest stranger he’s ever picked up in a non-moving vehicle. Even if Harry were a hitch hiker, he’d definitely pick him up in his car, no questions asked. Maybe he should feel concerned about that.

“Er—hah, thanks,” he says awkwardly, knowing full well he’s blushing, aware of the heat rising in his cheeks. That seems to be a thing now. Jesus. Suddenly he’s not so cold anymore. Instead, he’s a little bit captivated by this boy’s unassuming, unabashed nature. He’s charming, and Louis’ suddenly feeling slightly dazed, proceeding to release a fluster of breathy giggles, his breath clouding in the chilly air of the car. “You do hear what you’re saying, right?” he laughs.

“They’re compliments! Compliments are nice, aren’t they?” he says, beaming. "Everyone should be told nice things about themselves.”

“Yeah, but," Louis starts, bemused, “you don’t even know me.”

“You started it,” Harry protests, “with the model comments.”

“I guess I did,” he agrees. Louis swivels his body around more to face Harry, who instantly mirrors the movement. “Okay, so. We need a distraction.”

Harry raises his eyebrows.

“I mean to take our minds off the cold of course. What else?” Louis says wryly.  He wraps his arms tighter around himself, pulling his sleeves down further, absently aware the radio has now stopped working, focused more on the fact that Harry's eyes seem to be tracking Louis' every move.

It’s very distracting.

He’s not sure how the radio was working in the first place anyway. Perhaps that means the battery is properly dead now. Who knows. Oh well. More time to sit here with Harry then, which isn’t a bad compromise at all. “You’re alright though. Look at you, all wrapped up. Nice and cosy, aren’t ya?”

“Wanna share?” Harry says as he holds the left side of his coat open for Louis, looking like a hopeful, eager puppy. Christ.

“Nah, you’re okay,” Louis says, willing himself to sound even. Harry simply displays full on smugness at Louis’ squirmy expense. What a little wind up merchant. “May I remind you that we barely know each other, Harold.  Sharing body heat is kind of an intimate activity for strangers to dally in, don’t you think?”

Harry shrugs, unaffected. “Technically we aren’t anymore. We’ve introduced ourselves haven’t we? Apparently you’ve taken to nicknaming me already too,” he points out, far too pleased.

“That may be true, but I don’t know anything else about you, do I?” he says feebly, even if he wants nothing more than to snuggle into Harry's chest and find out exactly what his scent is. He thinks it's probably a combination of chestnuts roasting by the fire and rose petals and the sweetest, buttercream cupcakes. Louis is talking rubbish. He wants another cigarette.

“What do you want to know?” Harry grins, lashes fluttering prettily. "But after me, it's your turn. Got any booze back there? Might warm us up?” he suggests, cheeky.

Hmm. This could be the start of a dangerous game. Maybe he shouldn’t get too attached to Harry for starters. If he opens this can of worms, he might find out all sorts of things, depending on how long this night lasts.

Things like, perhaps:

  1. If Harry is single or not.
  2. And into boys would help too. (He’s pretty sure he is.)
  3. What those pinker than pink lips would feel like against his.



And. Oh.

Louis has that date tomorrow night.

Oh.

“Let’s go shopping,” Louis blurts out.

“What?"

“Come on, let’s go inside,” Louis finds himself insisting, scrambling for anything to do other than sit in a car with Harry.

It's not like he's betrothed to another for god’s sake, it's just a date.

But who knows where he'll end up if he tries something on with Harry and he really doesn’t want to give him the wrong impression or come on too hard or fast. (Shit, his mind went to a place there...)

He doesn’t want Harry to be a onetime thing, that's all. Harry seems like relationship material and if this goes any further (and that's a big if until at least after tomorrow), Harry’s far too lovely to be anything like a one night stand. And if he stays in this car with him any longer, he can’t promise himself he won’t want to pull Harry into the backseat and do... stuff.

A lot. Of. Stuff.

And this is all just happening very fast and it’s it's all getting a bit overwhelming for Louis, really. He needs to calm the fuck down. Overthinking. He’s doing it again. Harry might just be a flirty sort of person?

“Pretty sure this Asda is one of those twenty-four hour supermarkets. So come on,” he says a bit louder. “Surely you have some necessities you need to buy, yeah? And it’ll be warmer in there, anyway. Freezing me bits off out ’ere, aren’t I? Might buy myself another hoodie or jumper since I was stupid enough to not bring a coat with me.”

Harry stares at Louis for a moment, expression unreadable, and much more passive than it’s been so far, giving nothing away. Louis tries to ignore the lingering, charged tension in the air and the early tell-tale signs of something else he isn’t quite willing to acknowledge just yet.

“Okay,” Harry says at last, and Louis’ pretty sure he’s only just started breathing again.

“Okay, good,” he says briskly, getting out of the car, Harry following closely behind. Louis locks up (though it’s not like anyone will steal this piece of trash, especially when it can’t even start up) and begins walking, feeling Harry’s presence slide up beside him, leaving only a couple of inches of space between them.

**

When they get inside, it continues like this aisle after aisle; Harry practically pressed up against Louis’ side like he’s his shadow, like they’re magnets, incapable of not touching each other in some way at all times.

Louis picks up another pack of Oreos and drops them into his basket. Harry eyes them warily, and scrunches up his nose, pouting. “Don’t really like those.”

“You don’t like Oreos?” Louis says, incredulous. “What unfeeling bastard doesn't like these tiny biscuits of heaven? Are you an alien, Harry?”

"Just don't see what the fuss is about," he says easily, staring at Louis with something that appears very much like fondness in Louis' book. It makes his tummy feel funny. “I prefer Kit Kats.”

Louis places a hand to his chest in exaggerated offence. “Blasphemy!” he shrieks, shaking his head. Harry laughs. “Well, I do,” Louis says indignantly, snatching another packet off the shelf, quick as a whippet (for added dramatic effect), and makes a pouty face at him. Harry just pokes out his tongue at him, then picks up two single cupcakes in their packaging and uses them to shield his eyes for no apparent reason other than to make Louis laugh, pleased when Louis gives him a shove.

"You weirdo." Another warm tingling sensation fills up Louis’ tummy.

It’s nice, is the thing. Really nice. Whatever they're doing. Because it’s all so bloody domestic.

He’s essentially playing married with a perfect stranger.

They wander aimlessly around the empty supermarket at a leisurely, unhurried pace, taking turns to push the trolley along between giggles at Harry's frankly terrible jokes and chucking the odd fruit and vegetable at each other, ducking for cover behind display stands, careful to avoid being thrown out by a big, grumpy looking security guard.

It's fun. It's easy. Louis can’t believe how quickly he’s finding himself becoming attached to this sweet, odd boy he's literally met only just tonight.

It’s ridiculous.

Louis ignores the swooping feeling that’s spreading from his chest to his toes.

**

"Oh! I need to buy another hoodie or sweatshirt or summat. George, here I come."

"Who's George?" Harry laughs.

"George at Asda? George's. You know, the clothes section?" 

Harry shrugs.

"Honestly. You really are posh," he chides, ruffling Harry's hair. 

They rummage through the racks and pick out some semi-decent stuff. He loses Harry for a bit, only to turn around to see Harry bouncing back over with a navy sweatshirt with a hood, a large anchor etched onto the front in white.

"That's not half-bad, Harry," he says, pulling it over his grey hoodie. It's just the right amount of baggy that he likes. He pops into the trolley, and Harry beams.

**

They make their way through each aisle, skipping ones neither has any use for, and perhaps spending longer than is quite necessary in the toiletries aisle. Harry makes a beeline for the lube section, inspecting the bottles thoroughly, smirking and giggling like a naughty infant as he obnoxiously reads out the different flavours of the bottles, apparently with the sole intention to embarrass Louis in this almost silent supermarket. It's excruciating, is what it is, and Louis cannot stop laughing, clutching his stomach as he almost collapses to the floor.

“Oooh,” Harry says tunefully, smirking like nobody’s business. “This one is Cheeky Cherry!” he waves it about like an excited puppy, mouth shaped in an ‘o’. “I like cherries,” he adds, voice low and sultry. It's. Well. Fuck. Louis wants to pounce him.

“Oh my God, you’re so embarrassing,” Louis groans, slapping a hand over his face, bent on his knees beside the trolley. Harry rushes over and thrusts a strawberry one in his reddening face, using his other hand to tickle him. Louis lets out a loud whelp and tries desperately to keep quiet, aware of an employee passing them with a glare, trying to muffle his giggles with his hand clapped over his mouth. Harry beams at him as he goes to put it back on the shelf, only to grab another.

"Oh, no. Harry!" Louis whines, stands up, covering his face with his hands, peeks through his fingers as Harry projects his voice even louder, over enunciates the words, “warming sensation”, as the same employee passes them again, shooting Harry another unamused glance.

Louis smacks him half-heartedly on his chest, his hand lingering a few seconds longer than he means to, palm flat against his heartbeat.

Harry’s manic grin starts to falter, bright green eyes locking with his, both of their breathing growing laboured as they stare at each other coyly in silence with flushed cheeks and rising chests.

After a few heated moments, Louis finally lets his hand slide off and back to the hand rail of the trolley, gripping it hard. Harry’s bottom lip protrudes, red and gleaming, rubbing over his top lip, then proceeds to bite his bottom one it as his lit eyes stay glued to Louis.

Louis wills his heartbeat to slow down, as it hammers almost painfully beneath his ribcage.

**

They’re quietly sliding the shopping trolley down the cereal aisle now, both Louis’ palms on the handrail as Harry’s fingertips push gently on the side of it as if to help in any small way, thoughtful eyes scanning the contents of the shelves. He smirks as they get to the children’s cereals. “Let me guess, your favourite is Coco Pops or something?”

“Spot on, Harry!” he says, a few decibels too loud considering there’s still no one in here but a couple of checkout people looking incredibly bored and worn out at their tills. Though it's not like they've bothered to be quiet so far. “Don’t tell me,” he says, stopping the trolley, and placing a hand on his hip, lilting his head to the side. “You’re into those wholegrain, healthy crap cereals, aren't you?” He rolls his eyes.

“No, actually,” Harry says, taking a Coco Pops box off the shelf easily, noticing Louis can’t quite reach. “I like Cornflakes. Otherwise I just normally eat bananas for breakfast. I love a good fry up too,” he says casually.

Louis hums, raising his eyebrow. "Alright."

“Is that doubt I hear, Louis? I’m not some hipster health freak, if that’s what you think,” Harry protests, a tad petulant. Louis can’t help but think how cute Harry is when he’s mildly offended. "I do eat sugar you know."

“Alright, I believe you. Chill out, Curly.”

Harry instantly runs a hand through his hair, smirking. He seems to do that a lot. It's sexy. Or endearing. Or both. Ahem. “What next then?”

They both look down at the almost overflowing trolley full of goods. “Maybe we went a bit overboard," Louis notes.

“You went overboard you mean.” Harry smiles, and make his infuriating point by pulling out and lifts up multiple chocolate bars, several packets of butter croissants, and cookie packets amongst other things, tossing them back into trolley one by one. “You’ve got the entire sweets aisle in here for starters.”

Louis frowns. “I won’t eat them all at once, don’t worry, Harold. Dear me."

“My name isn’t actually Harold,” he says, tone snarky, but his face says otherwise, like he's trying to pretend to be offended but just comes off looking overly fond.

Louis smirks to himself, pleased and proceeds to ruffle his hair. It's so soft and sleek and god, he wants to play with it until his heart is content. Harry sighs warmly, leaning into Louis' touch, and.

Oh. He seems to like this. A lot. He clears his throat as Harry's eyes drift shut. Shit. He shifts on the spot, pulling down his hoodie. Louis has to practically force his hand away before things get indecent in the frozen goods isle and instead distracts himself by reaching into the trolley for a packet of Oreos atop the mountain of, frankly crap, and rips open the packet and shoves one in his mouth messily, pointedly looking at Harry as he does it.

His cheeks are filled like a hamster’s and bits spurt out as he attempts to speak. “Look, if I say your name is Harold,” he mumbles, “then that is what it is.”

Harry shakes his head, looking down, trying his hardest to suppress a wide grin. But alas, it is futile. Louis is sufficiently pleased. “You’re ridiculous, you know that?” Harry says, voice laced with softness.

“I’m fucking delightful, is what I am.”

Harry beams. Then he says quietly, “Yeah, you are,” perhaps mostly to himself. But Louis hears it.

He stops chewing, swallows the remnants of his cookie slowly. Harry’s standing particularly close to Louis’ face all of a sudden, and then he’s leaning and...

“Got a little something there,” he says instead, bringing the clammy pad of his index finger to the corner of Louis’ mouth, wiping it gently, and trailing it along Louis’ bottom lip tentatively, face fixated in concentration, expression sated and eyes hooded. Then he pops that finger in his mouth and licks off the Oreo residue, making sure to hold Louis’ gaze. Louis gapes at him in bewilderment as he sucks his own finger again, making a slick wet sound, which is completely unnecessary since it’s all gone, but he carries on, sucking it obscenely.

When Harry finally decides he's tortured Louis enough, he removes his finger nestled between his plump, raspberry pink lips which glisten with saliva.

Louis swallows hard. “Uhm...” he says shakily. “We should, uhm,” he pauses, losing himself in Harry’s eyes, questioning and waiting. He feels himself moving ever closer, watching Harry’s Adam’s apple bobbing beneath his loosened scarf. He clears his throat, launching back again. “We should go pay for this lot,” he says, breathier than he intended, or meant to sound at all, really.

Shit.

His skin is squirming with want, heat prickling the nape of his neck the longer Harry’s gazes at him, not saying a word. He’s this close to kissing him right this second.

But.

It wouldn’t be right to kiss someone else before you’ve gone on the date that’s supposedly with the love of your life right?

Liam went through a lot of trouble to find him this person, and he’s sweetly excited about it...

Ugh.

Dammit, Liam.

Not yet.

So Louis starts moving, pushing the trolley along at a quickening pace, racing toward the checkout.

**

They end up splitting their stuff separately due to Louis’ insistence after Harry offered to split the cost—which was completely stupid, and irrationally nice. Louis bought twice as many items than Harry did. And far more that he didn’t need to get either. Two carrier bags of actual groceries were already sitting in his car from earlier tonight.

Louis glances at the supermarket’s clock. They’ve been in here well over an hour, the time almost approaching one in the morning.

And yes. He may have purposely dawdled, taking his sweet time and yes. Maybe it was to keep Harry for a little bit longer.

When they get outside, the cold air hits Louis like a ton of bricks. Somehow the temperature has dropped dramatically further. But his petulance because of the cold doesn't last long as he's distracted by Harry stopping and tipping his head back, staring up at the cloudless, night sky.

"Look how bright the stars are,” Harry points out dreamily, pushing the trolley along. “They’re gorgeous.”

“Know what else is gorgeous?”

A smile creeps onto Harry’s face as he turns to look at him. “What?”

“Me.”

Harry beams at him as he laughs quietly. "That is true," he agrees.

Louis' about to throw a few flirty compliments Harry's way (because he's just so so _pretty_ ) when his attention is pulled away from Harry's lingering stare, and dare he say, a stare that's even resembling something a bit lust-filled in those glossy, captivating green eyes of his. His phone is ringing.

His phone is ringing. 

He has a signal!

Hallelujah!

Louis swallows hard, eyes still glued to Harry, his voice a bit unsteady when he answers, "Yeah?"

"Lou, it's Liam. Niall says you haven't been answering your phone?" 

"Oh, hey Payno. No, I didn't have signal. And my car broke down if my beloved was wondering where I got to. He didn't do the shopping like I asked only a million times earlier. So I had to do the dirty work as usual, didn't I?"

He glances at Harry, tapping his Vans against the asphalt. Harry's no longer looking at him. 

Liam sighs on the other end. "I'll be sure to tell him you haven't been murdered because you didn't come home.”

"I did go home!" Louis protests. "There was nothing in the fridge was there?"

"Alright, alright. So where are you? You need a lift? You’re at the big Asda, yeah?"

"Yeah."

"Okay, I'll be there in a bit. And you’ve not forgotten the date I've lined up for you tomorrow night, have you?" Liam reminds him excitedly. "I really think you're gonna like him, Lou. He's just what you need. A really lovely guy from what I've heard. You’ll thank me after!"

Hmm. Doubt that. "No, I've not forgotten," Louis sighs. 

“Alright, see you in a bit, Lou.”

"Thanks, Lima. You’re the best."

Louis hangs up.

Harry's got his hands behind his back, pressing his heels into the asphalt, quiet. He looks up, immediately gripping the trolley again and resumes pushing it along. Louis falls back into step beside him.

“Harry,” he says. The air feels thick between them, a lot less quiet but at the same time the silence is deafening. “Why are you here on a Friday night anyway? Shouldn’t you have been at some club or student party, out getting plastered with some mates or summat?”

“Nah,” Harry shakes his head. “Like I said earlier, I needed to clear my head.” He stops as they reach Louis’ car, opens his palm and holds it midair for the car keys. Louis tosses them to Harry without any hesitation. Harry smiles, and unlocks the boot and begins carefully loading Louis’ shopping inside it, leaving his single bag on the ground.

Louis stares at him.

“Harry, you don’t have to do that,” he frowns.

“It’s okay. I want to,” Harry assures him, a small smile pulling at those bitten ribbon lips of his, but it’s a little less brighter than before.

Louis frowns deeper.

“Have I... have I done something wrong?” Louis says, wracking his brain for anything insensitive he might have said at some point between the check-out and here. The idea that he’s upset Harry really irks Louis. It’s an unsettling, uncomfortable feeling. Louis doesn’t like it at all. But he's going through everything they’ve done and he can't think of anything he might have said to offend him. Something’s clearly made Harry act considerably more subdued. Maybe it’s nothing to do with him. Maybe it’s got to do with the reason he was driving for hours on his own. He’s hot with the urge to fix whatever has Harry feeling upset.

But Harry’s eyes widen minutely, taken aback. “No,” he insists, “Of course not. Why do you think that?”

Louis shrugs. “No reason, I guess.”

He watches closely as Harry slams Louis’ boot shut and picks up his own bag of shopping, standing there quietly. He stares at Louis for a long time before he says with a sigh, “I better go, now, I think,” forcing a smile, his teeth sunken into his bottom lip, worrying it relentlessly, stares with uncertain green eyes on Louis.

“Oh.” Louis deflates. “Okay,” Louis nods, doing little to hide the disappointment in his voice.

Harry stops biting his lip and his mouth parts on an inhale, eyes widening ever so slightly.

“Right, well...” Louis says, trying his best to sound light, but he probably sounds like someone’s stomped on his chest. Which his voice has no business doing. “Thanks for making this night a little more bearable for me, Harry. I had a lot of fun with you tonight,” he smiles coyly.

Coyly. Which is weird. Because Louis is rarely timid. And so far, he’s been sharing unbearably blushing smiles with Harry all night.

Harry is silent for an excruciating amount of time, staring at Louis with a scrutinizing gaze before he finally breathes, “Yeah. Me too.”

He continues to stare at Louis rather intensely.

Alright.

“Good luck with your law degree,” Louis chuckles, going for light and running with it. “And um, I hope whatever made you feel shit tonight sorts itself out."

“Thanks,” Harry smiles, fidgeting with the handle of the bag, face unreadable. “Um... and you as well. I mean, with everything.” Harry’s mouth gives an upward tilt but nothing wider spreads across those lovely soft cheeks of his. 

And Harry’s clearly not planning on giving or asking for Louis' number either so.

(But Liam’s apparently got his love life sorted so.)

So.

Looks like Louis was just a way of passing the time for Harry tonight.

It’s frustrating, and it sort of... well, it maybe stings a bit?  

“You going home now then?” Louis says because the silence is awkward and Louis just wants to go home now if he's honest.

“Yep,” Harry sighs. “Time to face the music.”

Louis nods. “Well, see you then, Harry.” Or not. Louis smiles and gives Harry a little wave, walking backwards toward his car. “Have a nice life,” he grins but his heart isn’t in it.

Louis turns away and frowns at the lack of a response from Harry, who still hasn’t moved from his spot when he hears—

"Wait!" 

Louis turns around instantly, chest filled with hope. "Yeah?" he asks, failing completely at nonchalance. 

"I was wondering whether you have a ride home?" Harry says, voice odd, and dare he say hopeful?

Oh. "Yeah, I uh, well me phone works now, so," he says,  A mate is picking me up in a while."

"Okay, good. I was gonna offer to take you, but..." Harry smiles, eyes a little downcast. "You've got a ride now so... yeah. I should be off."

"No, yeah. ‘Course."

"Well, um. Goodnight, Louis," Harry says, voice silky smooth, mouth parted on a paused exhale and then he smiles once more, a tentative curve of his crimson lips and stalks way to his car.

"Goodnight, Harry," Louis calls, and Harry stares from his car window before he turns the engine on and drives away from Louis.

Well. That's that then. One memorable, amazing night, and one beautiful, incredibly sweet boy with fabulous hair that managed to fill the hollow spaces of Louis's innards in mere hours, and now Louis' back to the static white noise that is his life. 

C'est la vie, and all that, he guesses.

Louis frowns deeply as he tentatively climbs into his seat, feeling dejected and brimming with an unfulfilled burning want in his chest, tight and aching.

But who knows, he might even fall in love with this blind date tomorrow, right?

Eh. 

And then there's Harry... shit, he didn't even get his last name.

Louis rests his hands on the steering wheel and sighs, about to snuggle into himself to wait for Liam, tugging the sleeves of the new dark blue sweatshirt over his hands that he put on at the checkout. The one Harry had picked out for him and Louis easily agreed to buying—if only just to please this stranger with long curls and kind green eyes and a childlike hyena laugh. To watch him beam at Louis’ approval of his choice in clothes.

Louis lets the disappointment fill his tired body, and waits for Liam to arrive which only takes another ten minutes. Liam pulls up unceremoniously with The Cure blasting from the windows. 

_It's Friday, I'm in love._

God dammit.

"Get in then, Mister. I'm freezing my arse off out here," Liam whined. Louis shot him a displeased look and Liam shrugged sheepishly before breaking into a wide grin. "Come on!"

Niall then pops his head out of the roof of the car, a shock of wild blonde hair peaking out of a black beanie. Louis jumps at the sight.

"Where have you been? I was _this_ close," Niall exclaims, gestures with his thumb and forefinger, "to calling the police. I've been worried sick! Text me if you're gonna be home late, you bastard! You know how I worry!"

"What?" Louis all but screeches. "You were asleep! And you forgot to do the shopping _again_ , idiot. That's why I was 'missing'. Then my car broke down and my phone lost its signal, alright? God, it's not like I was out injecting vodka into my eyeballs!"

Niall stares. "That makes no sense, mate."

Louis groans, wipes a hand over his face and stomps over to Liam's car, practically throwing himself in and burrowing his head in his arms. "I'm sleeping until we get home. I've had a hell of a day," he pauses, and glares at Liam, "so no one talk to me or I'll make you regret it, understood?"

"It's a only a quick ride though—" Liam starts.

"Ah! Silence! You both suck. Oh, someone needs to get the shopping out of my boot."

Niall dutifully collects the bags (because it's the least he should do) and loads them in with Louis in the backseat, ruffing Louis' hair with a soft, tepid hand.

Liam changes the station to something more mellow and takes the long way home.

**

The record shop is mainly tidy. Well. It looks less like a bomb site, that is. The 1975’s new album with the ridiculously long title is crooning in the background, its retro, dreamscape vibes instantly feel calming to Louis’ erratic heart.

Liam’s arse is still taking liberties where the shop’s hours are concerned, randomly disappearing for more breaks than Louis can count, opting to spend all of his time wooing his girlfriend he presumes.

There’s no other explanation: Liam is having sex. Lots of it.

(And no, Louis isn’t jealous.)

(And no, he is not still thinking about a certain leggy, curly haired boy whose number he didn’t get.)

(That’s a lie.)

(Two of them.)

Louis figured it out when Liam came through the door this morning, appearing more relaxed and brighter and chipper than usual, greeting Louis with a warm smile, absolutely saturated in a fragrance that was more musky vanilla mixed with sweet peach extracts, rather than the new, heavy Bond aftershave he bought him for his birthday.

“And just where have you been disappearing off to, young man?” Louis inquired, eyes narrowed, wrinkling his nose at the whiff of Spring he’d just brought through the door. It was a nice, pleasant smelling aroma though.

It spurs him to look into purchasing more peach scented candles for the flat. He scribbled a note down onto a fresh page of his journal: BUY PEACH CANDLES. 

And yes, Louis owns a journal. He’s a very vulnerable, thoughtful, pensive soul, thanks very much.

He watched with mirth in his eyes as Liam’s back tensed, shoulders stiff. He turned around over nonchalant, walking towards the front desk. “I dunno. Just out.”

“Out?” Louis said flatly. “I’m here all day on my own most of time, you dick. This is  _your_  shop, mate, or have you forgotten?”

Liam shrugged, unaffected. “It’s more yours really, Lou. You’re far more passionate about music these days than I am.”

“Because you’ve got a new lady friend to focus all your profound, starry-eyed, brooding thoughts on rather than Bon Iver’s new EP?”

“He has a new EP?” Liam piped up.

“No,” Louis laughed.

“Well, I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Liam sniffed, making his way out back to hang up his suede jacket.

“Oh, come on,” Louis pressed. “She’s obviously special. It is a  _she_  right?”

Liam nodded, smirking. Liam had certainly dallied with members _not_ of the opposite sex, but the last time he ‘dallied’ ended up with Liam getting really rather hurt—Louis still felt a stab of anger at the indecisive prick responsible for messing his mate around.

“Okay, so if this girl wasn’t worth the precious time cutting into your pride and joy that is this dump, you wouldn’t be leaving me all on my lonesome now, would you? I hope you’re spoiling her rotten, you know”—Liam just shook his head, chuckling as he went round with a clipboard, inspecting the stock they had left—”and I hope you’re sending her massive bouquets of all the exotic flowers in existence and whisking her off to eat at only the most exquisite and best of places, Payno.”

Liam paused, pen mid-air, and frowned at him dubiously. “What are you on, Louis? You better not have been smoking weed back there.”

“I’m not on anything, thank you,” Louis protested, indignant. “I am merely an incurable romantic, Lima. What can I say?” Louis smiled close-lipped and feigning innocence, watching as Liam went out back again.

Louis sighed, bored, and tapped down his cluttered pile of notes, sliding lists of upcoming releases and important documents across the desk’s surface—which lovingly housed random song lyrics etched into the wood in Sharpie—when the shop door’s bell jingled.

Which wasn’t a massive deal since, you know, this was a shop in which people came to in hopes of purchasing a beautiful record.

Except when Louis looked up, simultaneously lifting his freshly brewed tea with a lazy hand, he almost choked on his own tongue, his eyes catching on the person’s gaze who’d just entered, and was closing the door gently behind him, a breath of benevolence and youthfulness following him inside as the customer’s face broke into a wide, elated grin.

“Louis?” rumbled a familiar deep voice.

“Harry?” Louis spluttered.

“You work here?”

Louis nodded. Harry was here?? In his shop?? Praise Cupid’s arrows.

“I forgot to give you my number,” Harry supplied hesitantly, cheeks blushing furiously. Bless him. Sweet, lovely Harry.

“I thought you didn’t want it,” Louis replied, confused.

Harry’s eyes widened. “Of course I wanted it! I didn’t want to just ask though because... Well, I waited for you to bring it up, but then you got a call and I—”

“Yeah?”

“Well, I... Nevermind,” he smiled. “It’s good to see you again, Louis.”

“I saw you only last night,” Louis laughed. Harry blushed again, eyes falling downwards. “But yeah, it’s good to see you as well, Harry.”

He's ecstatic actually. 

Thank you universe.

Harry glanced back up, a soft, uncertain smile on his boyish face. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Louis insisted. “So, what brings you here? Looking for anything in particular?”

“Not really. I just saw this place on the high street and thought I’d have a browse. You don’t find many record shops around anymore. Not like this anyway. All vintage like, and cosy, you know?”

“Well, allow me to entice you with all my recent recommendations, Harold. Prepare yourself,” he said as Harry’s eyes never left him, a soft, content smile tugging his crimson lips. “I’m going to widen your music education.”

Harry chuckles. “Well, I’m ready to be educated.”

“They’ll be lots of 80’s New Wave, Synth and Post-Punk, Harry. I hope you like that,” he warns.

“I definitely do,” Harry nods, a soft smile and soft eyes just softly caressing Louis’ whole entire being with his sweeping looks.

Louis lets out the most embarrassing nervous sound. Fuck. Louis accidentally snaps his pen.

Harry’s eyes widen infinitesimally, mouth curving and teeth bared in delight.

Dear God.

Whoever this guy is that he’s meeting tonight has a lot to live up to.

**

Harry had spent another twenty five minutes or so in the shop—Liam had momentarily eyed them curiously after leaving about five minutes after Harry arrived, informing Louis he needed to pop out again (to have sex), in fact Liam did a double take, stared at Harry rather peculiarly —and Harry happily rested his forearms atop the desk, eyes engrossed with Louis’ every word. Chocolate brown ringlet curls stood out against his plain white t-shirt, and a bulky, discoloured beige jacket with brown buttons strewn over the top.

They continued talking with familiar ease; Harry listed his favourite albums, and Louis added the odd snarky comment which gained several giggles from Harry, or agreed with eager nods at Harry’s more mainstream choices. Louis figured he’d be severely pretentious. He’s surprisingly wrong.

Then Harry’s phone buzzed and his lovely attention was required elsewhere. "Sorry, I'm gonna have to go," Harry sighs.

"Right, no, yeah," Louis says, a little put out as their conversation was really beginning to take off. "You'll just have to come back and tell me what your favourite Coldplay album is and describe the reasons why in great detail," Louis grins. “I expect full annotations if you want top marks.”

"I’ll keep that in mind," Harry laughs. “I’ll be back later then?”

“I’ll be here,” Louis sings.

Louis watches Harry walk out, giggles when Harry gives him a little wave through the window like the cute marshmellow he is, and hopes very much that Harry comes back, and if he doodles Harry's name in his notebook like a smitten teenager, well, no one has to know.

**

To Louis' delight, Harry does come back.

Only when he does, it’s ten minutes before closing time and Louis has his blind date at eight o’clock.

So, yeah. That’s a thing. Still a thing. A thing he promised Liam he would at least try because Liam is a good friend and he loves Liam and doesn’t want to disappoint him.

The door bell jingles and Harry’s standing there, face beaming as he meets Louis’ instantly softening gaze, his chocolate curls mussed from the wind and licking his neck.

“Hi, Louis,” Harry rumbles, still beaming as he gets to Louis’ desk, stops just in front of it, and puts his hands in his coat pockets, the heels of his Chelsea boots digging into the rank, discoloured carpet (they really need to see about putting down new flooring).

“Hey, Harold,” he greets buoyantly, probably a bit _too_ enthusiastically actually—Louis’ face just can’t control itself. He beams at Harry’s thrilled face (see—he's not the only infatuated one here—which, thank God), and revels in the glossy sheen of Harry’s green eyes, Louis’ own eyes crinkling as he takes in Harry’s charming, beautiful existence, and he’s so desperate to continue talking to Harry about nothing, about everything, pushing down the overpowering sentiment that nothing  _is_  somehow everything with Harry. 

And that's... Louis' getting very fond of Harry, it seems. Really fond. After _one_ day. One. Which is mad. Ridiculous, it's...

Yeah, no. He's not thinking about this too deeply right now. 

Louis shuffles some papers (where did all this come from anyway??) and puts down his pen, meeting Harry’s now soft, expectant gaze. He’s got on a completely different outfit—a loose lilac jumper peaks gorgeously underneath his black peacoat now, his matching black scarf wrapped snugly around his pale neck. He looks warm. Just. Lovely. 

"Changed again have we?" Louis smirks.

"Oh, uh, yeah," Harry chuckles. “So, where were we?” says Harry, cheeks tinged red from the brisk winds outside. “My all time favourite Coldplay album and the incredibly detailed reasons for my choice, including annotations and key lyrics, right?” Harry says teasingly, biting on his bottom lip as he smiles, swaying happily on the spot. 

Which is adorable. Ugh.

Louis watches him, entirely besotted at this point as Harry tuck his chin underneath the fabric of his scarf, staring at him coquettishly.

Then Louis’ phone buzzes atop the desk, interrupting him from his Harry stupor.

_Close up shop please?_

It'sLiam.

Another buzz.

_Then get ready and come straight to mine yeah?_

And another.

_Be ready to fall in deep, deep love, Lou!_

Louis rolls his eyes, unimpressed. “Uh,” he drawls. “Yeah, about that,” Louis starts lightly. “I’m about to close up, you see, so I’m gonna have to take a rain check on Coldplay,” he smiles apologetically.

“Oh! Oops. I didn’t realise it was that late,” Harry replies, checking his watch. “I can come back tomorrow?” he suggests, feigning nonchalance, burying his hands into his pockets.

“Ah, well that might be difficult as we’re closed on Sundays." Louis subtly begins tapping out a reply to Liam, can feel Harry watching him.

_Always so optimistic Payno. We’ll see._

“Oh, okay,” Harry replies, his relentless smile still in place. His eyes flit down to Louis’ phone as it buzzes again. “Actually, I have a confession."

"Oh, yeah?" Louis says, putting his phone down, eyebrows raised. 

"Yeah. I, uh, see I already knew you closed at six. It's on the door."

"No! Really?" Louis smirks. 

"I was surprised too," Harry shoots back, chuckles lightly. "And um. Well...I was wondering, like, what are you planning on doing now? You know, after?”

“After?” Louis blinks.

“Yeah,” Harry nods, cheeks blushing crimson, and this time Louis doesn’t think he can blame the cold anymore. “What are you doing after you close up? It is a Saturday night, after all. Do you have any plans?”

“Plans?” Louis echoes dumbly.

“Because I was thinking, maybe you and I—we could—”

“I have a date tonight, Harry,” Louis blurts suddenly, winces once he's said it.

“Oh," Harry says in surprise. "Right." Louis groans internally at the way the blissful smile on Harry’s little face has faltered drastically. 

“Yeah.”

Harry's features form a frown, eyes falling straight back to Louis’ phone as it starts to buzz again incessantly.

 _For Christ’s sake, Liam_ , he thinks. _Give it a rest._ You’d think this was _his_ date tonight.

“Yeah, um, my mate set it up for me with mutual friends. Thinks I need to put myself out there more. He’s only saying it because he’s loved up now. He reckons it’ll be worth it, but we’ll see. I’m not holding up much hope to be honest. He’s more excited than I am really,” he says the words in a rush, trying to downplay the whole thing as much as possible. He doesn’t even want to go. Why would he? When Harry is standing right here in front of him in all his faux Burberry Model glory, his attention glued to Louis, hanging off his every word, and staring at him like he’s got the sun shining out of his arse.

“No?” Harry asks quietly, face twisting into a faint smile.

“Nah,” Louis says, shrugging nonchalantly. “Dates never work out for me. I prefer more natural, organic meetings, you know? Dates seem so forced. Particularly when you’ve never met the person before. It’s like they’re interviews for romantic employment or something.”

“Yeah, that’s one way to put it,” Harry replies after a beat, and he's smiling again. Thank God. “It might sound silly or a bit corny or whatever, but I kind of think some things or some people... they’re just meant to be or meant to meet? It just kinda happens, I think. You meet the best people when you least expect to.” His heels twists on the floor as he starts to sway again, hands in his coat pockets, a coy smile on his cherry lips that are slightly chapped, staring at Louis, unwavering. “Or sometimes anyway.”

“I don't think that's silly," Louis tells him. "Proper believer in fate, are we?”

Harry hums. “I'll answer that when the time's right," Harry teases. Louis scoffs. "But I like the concept of serendipity more, even though I guess fate is more or less the same thing," he says, pondering. "Though fate is more about higher forces predetermining certain things to happen.”

"You're a bit of a whimsical soul, aren't you, Harry?"

Harry half shrugs, watches Louis with a close-mouthed smile.

"Well, I think so," Louis smirks, glances back down to his open journal, pen loosely in his hand, halfheartedly scribbling a poor drawing of a boat with sails, and a moon behind clouds. He can feel Harry's eyes on him.

“Serendipity?" Louis says aloud. "Isn’t that a really mediocre rom-com with John Cusack and Kate Beckinsale?” 

“Well, you’ve obviously watched it," Harry quips, "seeing as you can name both leads correctly. A fan of that genre, are we?" Harry smiles, looking rather fond. Louis' cheeks do not heat up furiously. 

“What if I am? I'm an extremely sensitive, romantic man at heart, I'll have you know,” Louis insists. He may have seen most romantic comedies in existence... Maybe. (Only the ones that are at least semi-decent though. He's not going to watch any old shit.) Meanwhile, Harry nibbles on his bottom lip, eyes aglow with the fairy lights bordering the desk. He looks like Christmas. Which isn't that far off now that he thinks about it. Great. He's bought exactly zero gifts thus far. “So what does it mean then anyway? Serendipity?”

“It means a fortunate accident.”

“Hmm," Louis hum. "I like that word better too,” Louis muses, doodling the word into his journal above his little drawing.

"Is that a boat?" Harry asks, tilting his head, seemingly intrigued. 

Louis nods, not looking at him as he carries on shading in the sea, noticing the comfortable silence as a Cocteau Twins record plays quietly.

"You like ships?"

"I'm a big nautical fan, yeah."

"I'm thinking about getting a ship on my arm, or maybe an anchor, I'm not sure yet," Harry mumbles, tracing his finger atop his wrist.

"Really? I've always wanted to get one of a compass."

Harry smiles. “We’re perfect then,” he says brazenly.

Louis glances back up and meets Harry’s starry-eyed gaze.

God, he's daydream inducing, brimming with buoyancy and idealistic notions, Louis expects. Probably owns a pair of rose-tinted glasses too. Louis feels like he's living out a scene in a rom-com or some cute 'tries to be indie' flim. It certainly feels like it's heading that way and it's all a bit intense. 

“Okay, well,” Louis says abruptly, face heating up at the implication in Harry's words, in his hope soaked smile. “I better close up and get this over with then, eh?” Louis says lightly, grabbing the keys, and shrugging on his jacket. Harry nods, smile faltering minutely. Louis tries to push down the unsettling feeling taking up residence in his chest, seriously contemplates phoning Liam and cancelling the date. 

Harry watches as Louis stops the record playing and switches off the fairy lights.

“I’ll see you Monday then, maybe?"

Louis smirks. “Oh, so you’re coming back, are you? Can’t resist speaking to this riveting, wise conversationalist here."

“Obviously not,” Harry smirks back. "Is he here by the way?"

"Cheeky."

Harry laughs.

“Right then. Suppose I’ll be seeing you around, Harold?”

“Suppose you will,” Harry says, voice like velvet as he tentatively eyes him one more time before he makes to leave the shop, hips swaying out the door in a way that Louis thinks is filthily intentional.

But he stops, turns around again, smile tentative. “I hope your date goes well, Louis. Really.”

Louis’ heart crunches.  

Harry is opening the door again when Louis suddenly blurts, “Wait! Which way are you walking?”

Harry beams, gesturing to the left with his thumb. “That way.”

“Same here. Walk with me?” Louis asks, not ready to let Harry go on his merry way just yet.

“Okay,” Harry replies, a pleased smile pressing his lips as he holds the door for Louis to walk through.

Louis switches off the lights.

**

“What are you wearing then?” Liam coos, collapsing onto the sofa with a crinkly eyed grin on his face and almost knocking Niall’s slice of pizza out of his hand in the process. Niall shoots him a murderous glare, pale cheeks full as he eats obnoxiously nosily—it’s one of his many vexing habits that Louis has mentally listed over the two years that they’ve been living together.

Although his tendency of not bothering to do the food shopping  _has_  worked out well for Louis so far.

Kind of. After all it  _is_  thanks to Niall that Harry ended up drifting into Louis’ universe. (Louis should probably make sure he buys Niall a nice gift if things end up progressing with Harry.)

Harry. With his horribly cute dimples and his lighthouse eyes and his chocolate drenched curls.

Le sigh.

Louis really wishes Harry was his date tonight, and Louis hates dates—they’re just full of awkward small talk and fake niceties and unwanted attempts at pulling (at least all the ones Louis’ been on)—but he knows that if this date was with Harry, it would end up being a charming little adventure, wouldn’t it? And isn’t that exactly what Louis is looking for?

They could spend the evening giggling into their hands with their mouths full of fancy food as they tell their most embarrassing stories, sloshed on red wine as they make up unflattering, silly scenarios about each person in the restaurant, steal each other’s deserts and then make out in Harry’s car (since he is still annoyingly without one), steam up the windows a bit and blast Joy Division ironically as they get each other off and fall truly, madly, crazy deeply in love.

No, Louis hasn’t thought much about this at all, why do you ask?

Louis shrugs. “I don’t know, jeans and a t-shirt?” Louis says offhandedly, staring at his phone like it holds the secrets to the universe.

“Just jeans and a t-shirt?” Liam practically screeches. Niall ducks at the shrill sound.

“Oi, do you fucking mind? I’m trying to eat my dinner in peace, thanks,” Niall scowls.

“What’s got you in a tiff?” Louis asks. Niall’s been grumpy all evening.

“Don’t change the subject, Louis. You’ve got less than an hour to get ready. You were meant to come round mine, remember?”

“Why though?”

“Because I’m driving you?”

“Why are you driving me? Why can’t this bloke be a gentleman and pick me up?”

“Um... because he doesn’t actually know he’s attending a blind date yet,” Liam mumbles sheepishly.

“Excuse me?”

“His mate knew he wouldn’t agree if he didn’t wait to tell him until they got to the restaurant,” Liam says casually.

What?

“Oh, great. I can see this going wonderfully then. And that’s a pretty shit thing for his friend to do to him, isn’t it? I'd murder you if you did that to me”—Liam shifts uncomfortably, and yelps when Niall elbows him in the side, cheeks puffed—“So what? He ‘s just going to spring me on the guy and hope for the best?”

“Well... Ed promised me H—” Liam stops abruptly. “Uh, Herbert—”

“Herbert?” Louis says dubiously. 

“Yeah,” Liam says, cheeks red.

"You know it doesn't matter if I know the bloke's name, right? It still counts as a blind date if I haven't physically seen him."

Liam purses his lips, folding his arms stubbornly. 

“Oh, come on! You’re kidding me, right? That’s his actual name? What is he? A sixty-five year old History teacher?”

Liam sighs. “No! Look, his mate said he would be up for it. Well, that he needed it really. That his friend needs some happiness, and you do too, Lou. Ed thinks you sound just like his mate's type: Someone who’s funny and has a good sense of humour, yeah? Someone who’s genuinely nice and compassionate, easy to be around,” Liam lists, ticks them off with his fingers. “You tick all the boxes, Louis.”

“He’s a pain in the arse to be around,” Niall pipes up, smirking as he tries to dodge Louis’ wrath, and squeezes Niall’s bum as he passes them, taking his empty pizza box with him. 

“Yeah,” Louis scoffs. “He might not even fancy me. Let’s not get ahead of ourselves. I might not even fancy him!”

“Pfft. That won’t be a problem. You’ll like him. Trust me."

“Why are you so sure?” Louis says, eyes narrowed. He’s starting to get quite suspicious.

“I just am,” Liam says defensively. “Now hurry up and wear your nicest black jeans if that’s what you’re insisting on wearing. And pick a smart shirt, will you?”

“Fine, fine.” Louis waves him off, making his way to his bedroom, particularly intrigued about this date rather than the unbothered indifference he had earlier. There’s no way this guy is called Herbert. Louis pokes his head out the door again. “Just to be clear, this guy is around my age right?”

“He’s twenty as far as I know. Turns twenty-one early in the new year,” Liam calls back. Louis thinks he hears more Irish complaining.

“Right. Just checking.” Louis shuts the door with another click and opens up his wardrobe.

Maybe this date might actually end up being a fun night?

**

Louis does wear his nicest jeans, the ends rolled up to his ankles (they just look cooler that way—and no, it’s not because jeans are generally too long for him, thank you!), and he’s paired them  with an actual pair of shoes—dark tan brogues, and a black blazer over the top of his favourite Joy Division t-shirt. (It’s clean so it’ll do).

When he steps out of his room stinking of an overly strong aftershave he nicked from Niall, Liam clap s his hands to together and gets on his feet, beaming. “Wow, look at you! You scrub up well, Tomlinson.”

Niall chooses that moment to wander into the living room in just his boxers, which is a luxury for Louis since Niall often decides to roam the flat naked but Liam would go into a mild cardiac arrest if that happened so Niall did good for once.

“He’s right. You look proper fit, Lou!” Niall says as he smacks a sloppy kiss to Louis’ clean shaven cheek. Louis scrunches his nose in disgust, fiddling with his fringe. “I’d fuck you,” he says casually.

Liam rolls his eyes on an exhale.

“Nah, you’re alright,” Louis smirks.

Niall shrugs. “Suit yourself. Have fun tonight! And don’t have sex on the first date. Unless he’s proper fit, then I say fucking go for it. Ride him into the horizon, my son.”

“Please stop your mouth from moving,” Louis retorts flatly. Liam groans.

“Byeee!” Niall sings as he disappears into the bathroom.

Liam checks his phone, a suspiciously happy smirk on his face. Louis eyes narrow. “What are you up to?”

“Ed says your date is ready and on his way to the restaurant. Luckily there’s a really nice bar there too. His mate thinks he and Ed are just going for Saturday night drinks. They’ll meet us there at the bar.” Liam slips his phone in his coat pocket. “Alright, let’s go then,” he grins, gesturing Louis out the door as he holds it open.

“Thank you,” Louis replies hesitantly.

“Your carriage awaits.” Liam’s got an unusual glint in his eye.

“God, you’re unbelievable. And embarrassing,” he groans.

Something weird is going on, and he knows the point of a blind date is to not know who the date in question is at all. But it’s irritating him more and more by Liam’s overenthusiastic demeanour toward this whole thing. Which just makes Louis all the more certain this is going to fall flat.

Besides, all Louis can think about is a certain green eyed boy.

**

When they get to the bar dead on eight, its neon blue lights and black leather interior seating gleaming in the bright white rectangular lamps placed around the room, the place is practically heaving. It’s a nice place, if anything. He keeps an eye out for any pretty faces that catch his bored attention.

“Are you coming to the bar with me or what?” Louis shouts over the noise,  a generic thumping beat playing in the background.

Liam glances down at his phone and his excited puppy smile is wiped clean off. “Oh.”

“What?”

“They’re not coming,” he frowns, disappointment clear in his voice.

“What the fuck? Why not? I got dressed up for nothing?” Louis says, indignant. He obviously wasn’t happy about tonight anyway but the decent thing to do would be to show up. This guy couldn’t even be bothered to do that. Rude.

“Ed said his mate realised what was going on and refused to come. Said he’s rather be somewhere else.” Liam tuts. “Charming.”

Well then.

Looks like they’ll have to entertain themselves.

“Let’s get a drink anyway,” Louis sighs, dragging Liam towards the bar.

“I can’t! I’m meeting Sophia in about twenty minutes,” Liam practically squawks.

“Oh, Sophia, is it?” Louis teases. “Go on then. Off you trot. But you better tell me everything about you two later."

“Are you sure? What, are you just going to drink by yourself?”

“Well I’m dressed in my finest, Li. You don’t have that little faith in me to pull, do you? Or is that why you're so insistent on finding my a boyfriend. Don't think I can find one myself, eh?"

"No! I just want you to be happy, Lou! You deserve it,” he says, face distressed.

"I'm only joking, mate," he laughs. "I know that."

“Fine," Liam sighs, a smile creeping back over his kicked puppy features. "Have fun. Be safe,” Liam says, kissing him on the cheek and pulling him in for a hug.

“God, alright, Mum,” Louis quips, rolling his eyes but with more fondness than anything else.

Louis taps his fingers on the bar top and orders himself a gin and tonic, taking a sip as he looks around.

And standing on the other side of the bar is—

Harry.

“Harry!” he shouts, waving like an embarrassing loon most likely, unable to disguise the delight in his voice.

Harry’s eyes widen and his face almost splits in two. He waves back just as vigorously.

God they’re as bad as each other.

Harry strides over to him, effortlessly weaving in and out of oblivious bodies who either can't be bothered to move or are too engrossed in their mates to care if Harry can reach Louis or not. They should care. Harry's practically his soulmate at this point.

"You alright?" Harry greets him immediately. He kind of hovers awkwardly, as if he's not sure whether he can move in for a hug. Louis does it anyway and after a few beats Louis flings his arms around Harry's neck, pulling him down into a brief but warm hug.

"Yeah, you?" Louis says into his neck. Dear God. He smells like what he'd imagine heaven to smell like. A combination of fresh citrus and a hint of musky aftershave is apparently what an afterlife may or may not greet him with. He inhales discreetly (he's being such a creep) and pulls back hastily, aware of Harry's lingering hand slowly moving away from the small of his back. Louis can practically feel the heat of invisible his imprint there. "What are you doing here?" 

Because what is he doing here? But of course he'd be here. Louis was the one who said he had other plans tonight. Harry's probably meeting his uni mates here or something.

Harry smiles, cheeks flushed. "Um, well, I live nearby. My student house isn't far, and you know," he shrugs noncommittal, "I had nothing better to do."

Louis smiles at him, his tummy doing weird things and his pulse quickening. He's so glad Harry's here. Perhaps this night isn't such a washout after all. Drinking is better with two after all.

"What about you?" Harry asks.

"Got stood up, didn't I?"

Harry frowns, mouth forming into a mildly visible pout. It's cute. "No way? Seriously? What kind of idiot would stand you up?" he says, incredulous. Louis, for one, is extremely flattered. He tried to hide his blushing grin.

Louis smirks, waving him off. "Eh, it's fine. Like I said earlier, I wasn't really bothered was I?"

"Still though," Harry says, tone a bit petulant. Bless him. "It's a dickhead move."

"Liam said something about the guy not knowing about the date tonight. Said Ed told him last minute because he knew he wouldn't agree to it otherwise, and well, he said no."

"Ed?" Harry pauses, brows knitting together, seemingly taken aback, eyes widening infinitesimally.

"Yeah, he's a friend of Liam's,” Louis says, noticing the way Harry’s eyes seem in the midst of calculating a particularly hard equation or something to that effect. 

“Oh right,” Harry’s says offhandedly, then hurriedly asks, “Do you want a drink?”

Louis smiles, lifting up his gin and tonic, takes a sip. “Got one, thanks. But I’ll get another round in. What are you having?”

“No, no, I’ll get them,” Harry splutters, shaking his head. “Please, I insist,” Harry says determinedly, his cheeks starting to redden. He looks flustered, embarrassed even, as he undoes his scarf and a few of the buttons on his black satin shirt, hanging over his slender frame effortlessly with a sleek peacoat, belt undone. He takes it off, eyes scanning around the crowded, rowdy room. “I’m just gonna drop these off at the cloakroom first. Want me to take anything for you?”

Louis stares, a little baffled. He’s acting so weird. His face is like a beetroot.

“Are you okay?” Louis says instead, concerned.

“Yeah, I’m fine, why?” Harry says, unconvincing, but he doesn’t push it considering how uncomfortable Harry seems already.

Louis shrugs with a smile. “You seem a bit distracted, that's all. I’ll order for us, yeah? Really, it's fine. Another couple of gin and tonics?” he gestures back to the full sparkling glass standing atop the bar’s shiny black surface.

"Yeah. Okay, thanks," Harry says, smiling small, but his cheeks are no less flushed, even in this light.

Louis turns to the bar and orders more drinks, eyes on Harry as he moves through the crowd. He glances over his shoulder, locks his eyes with Louis, an unreadable expression on his face but it's not bad, Louis thinks. It's more curious, because then Harry shoots him a wide grin and ducks his head, turning back around and strutting over to the cloakroom.

**

They talk about nothing and everything for hours, sitting atop stools on the edge of the bar where the night slowly dwindles down, getting quieter and calmer until there’s a pleasant buzz in Louis’ veins from the copious amounts of gin he’s consumed this evening, and Louis steadily finds himself clinging to every deeply uttered word that tumbles out of Harry’s exquisite mouth, every marvelous sound he makes when he laughs, and laughs himself when Harry snorts so hard his drink dribbles out of his nostrils.

“What the hell was that?!” he roars. “You need a bib, I think, love.” Louis moves to wipe a napkin exaggeratedly over his chin and attempt to tuck it into the collar of Harry’s shirt.

“Hey!” Harry giggles, cheeks aflush with a light sheen of sweat and a soft pink glow. “Don’t laugh,” he chides, hand stifling his cute sniggering. “It’s a sickness, I tell you! Once I find something funny, the snort just can’t be stopped. Feel sorry for me, menace.” Harry grabs for Louis’ wrist, the pads of his fingers gingerly pressing over Louis’ jack-rabbiting pulse point.

“Well, I guess I’ll have to ensure you laugh forever then.” That wouldn’t be a bad life at all, he thinks—his sole purpose to always make Harry laugh.

“Please, do,” Harry says, affection laced delicately in two simple words.

Louis stares, and momentarily stiffens as Harry leans in closer, his nose hovering over his right cheek and Louis’ heart speeds up even faster, so starkly aware of his proximity that he could literally burst into smithereens this second.

But Harry does the absolute last thing he expects him to do and _licks_ Louis’ stunned face. His wet, hot tongue sliding in one quick stripe up his cheekbone.

“What the fuck, Harry?” Louis all but screeches, eyes bulging before he almost falls off his stool from laughing so vigorously, his head thrown back, while Harry sits opposite him, eyes glittering with mirth and his face grinning, delighted as his arms shoots out and pulls him back to steady him.

Eventually their laughter dwindles down and Louis’ aware that it’s almost past midnight, which normally wouldn’t be a problem but he’s supposed to be driving to Doncaster tomorrow for Sunday lunch at his mum’s and he knows he’s going to have to sober up at least a bit.

“I had a really great time tonight, Harry,” Louis says, shifting to hop off the frankly ridiculously uncomfortable stool he's had his bum on for hours.

“Oh, do you have to leave already?” Harry says, almost pouting. He’s so cute, good grief.

Louis nods. “Yeah, got about an hour and a half drive tomorrow to my mum’s. She’ll kill me if I’m late and if I don’t go now I probably will be.”

“Okay, well, I had a brilliant time with you too, Louis. I think we’re going to be great friend,” he says happily.

“Absolutely,” Louis smiles, though he refused to acknowledge that smidgen of disappointment at the phrase ‘friends’, and instead chooses to focus on the fact he’ll likely be seeing a lot more of Harry.

“I’m to be practically living in your shop from now on. I hope you know that,” he informs him, releasing a yawn that’s strikingly similar to that of a baby lion. Adorable.

“Thank you for the notice, Harry. I look forward to your riveting presence and terrible dad jokes,” he teases.

Harry just beams at him. “I’ll um, I’ll just get my coat and we can grab a cab together, yeah?”

“Sure. I’ll wait for you outside.”

“Alright, cool,” Harry nods, still beaming as he slides by him and makes his way back to the cloakroom.

**

When Harry returns, he's biting his lip relentlessly, but it does nothing to hide his joyous smiles as they bump hips, hands hovering close to each other's as they wait for the cab to arrive.

"After you," Harry insists, gesturing grandly to the black cab as he holds the door open when it pulls up to the curb.

"Thank you," Louis grins. Harry grins so big, Louis' worried his face might break.

Harry's student house isn't far from Louis' own flat and the short drive is quiet but comfortable, thighs pressed together, and Harry sleepily rubbing his eyes. Louis checks his phone and notices he's received several texts from Niall throughout the night:

_so how's it going dickface??_

_hope ur using protection young man!!!_

_am i going to have to use ear plugs tonight or not? i need to know in advance x_

_okay i'm sorry i've just been informed by lime that your date stood you up and i just wanna say he's a cunt. also i love you xxxx_

Louis drags a hand over his face and can't help the giggles that slip from his mouth. Harry doesn't even know what he's laughing about but he starts giggling along with him and it makes Louis laugh harder, the two of them in fits in the backseat of the cab and Louis feels like he's floating on helium. 

The cab drops Harry off first and although Louis would love nothing more than spend the night with Harry, he wants to do this right. Proper court him and all that romantic biz, and if they become friends first, it'll be easier, right? So he bids Harry goodnight with a peck on the cheek, and Harry blushes beautifully and it's all extremely lovely and sweet and yes, Louis is currently flying high as a kite and he's not even had any weed in days.

Just simply flying high on Harry Styles. (Because yes, he also managed to get his surname this time too.)

So yeah.

Harry Styles is a new adventure Louis is very much willing to embark on.

**

Things with Harry are progressing at an alarmingly fast pace. Friendship wise, that is. 

Harry comes back to the shop whenever he seems to have a free period, or an afternoon off, and most evenings too and it's become custom for Louis to expect the bell to ring and for Harry to come waltzing in from the wind and rain and the rare wintry showers, occasionally turning up with the remnants of snowflakes in his curls, and they listen to Louis' favourite records, and they listen to Harry's favourite records, and it's easy, it's comfortable, and it's fun. Louis lets himself drown in Harry's bitten smiles, hyena giggles, in his witty and silly and odd words, and the way Harry seems to stare at Louis like he's the most important thing in the world.

And Louis stares at Harry like he's the one thing he's been missing.

Because he probably is.

And when Louis gets home, his phone instantly buzzes with Harry's incessant texts full of puns and memes and he'll send him pictures of grumpy kittens and unimpressed sloths and baby hedgehogs with the captions like: _Look! It's you, Louis Tomlinson! You're an internet sensation! How do you feel?? :)_

And no, he is not ridiculously endeared. 

(He's never been more endeared in his life.)

**

Louis has known Harry for a little over two weeks now and he can safely say they've probably been the most awake and simultaneously calm his mind's felt in ages. Despite the fact that's fighting to stay conscious, his eyelids drooping heavily, the two of them currently lazily sprawled out on the floor of the record shop (which is rank but Harry's here so Louis doesn't really mind), their jackets having been put to good use as cushions, as vinyls lay scattered around their bodies and it's way past closing time, approaching almost ten to nine now.

Harry came here straight from his Wednesday three hour lecture, armed with a packet of Oreos—("They're your favourite, right?" he'd said, and Louis smiled so hard because he remembered that he thought his face might split)—and he's been with Louis since. 

Two weeks and having Harry around all the time has become customary, the norm, and already Louis is used to his calming, odd presence, and the two have struck up quite the friendship, Louis is pleased to say.

Sometimes Harry will bring his textbooks with him and his laptop and perch himself atop the second stool that usually sits Liam (but when Liam is here, he's usually out back, giving Louis knowing smirks and saying embarrassing things about how cute he and Harry are. That sod), and Harry will work and Louis will work and they'll be comfortable silences as Ride and The Smiths and Imogen Heap croon and hum and strum in the background, Harry often slyly switching the radio on to Capital FM, mirth in his eyes as he turns it up deafeningly loudly whenever a Katy Perry or Justin Timberlake track comes on to Louis' horror. (Though he secretly does enjoy the Top 40 quite a bit.)

The 'closed' sign faces the outside of the door, while the husky tones of Mazzy Star lulling them almost to sleep as Louis and Harry lay contentedly, side by side, empty Styrofoam coffee sups standing empty at their sides, and there's fake flower petals sprinkled over both of their jumpers.

Because Harry turned up today wearing a daisy crown of all things—("It's in protest of Winter, Lou. It's far too cold so I'm bringing Spring forward this year")—he informed Louis (and yes, he's begun calling him Lou now too-it's a precious thing), though despite decorating his hair in Spring, he still came dressed as snug as usual in a dark red cotton jumper.

Just when he thinks Harry might have really fallen asleep, Harry speaks. "I'm so glad I had a shit night when I first met you," Harry mumbles, chin hunched upon the fleece of his collar. "Otherwise if I didn't, I might not have met you at all, and I'm so glad to know you, Louis," he says, fatigue lacing the muffled rumble of his voice.

Louis bites his lip, suddenly wide awake. "Why _were_ you having a shit night, Harry?"

Harry's quiet a few moments. "Um, well, there was this guy—" He can't help it, Louis' body stiffens. Harry obviously feels it because then he's faintly brushing his knuckles where their hands are limp at their thighs against Louis', "and um, I thought I liked him, but I didn't," Harry shakes his head determinedly. "I had this idea of him in my head and when I realised what he was really like, which was a massive dickhead, I felt really stupid and wished I hadn't wasted my time on him at all. Not even a little bit of it. I mean, it was only a few weeks or so," he turns to Louis, sheepish, "that I had a crush on him, but it was a fake crush because I didn't actually know him, did I? And then he turned up at ours and he was so rude and basically tried to stick his tongue down my friend's throat when he'd been trying it on with me earlier in the evening, and yeah. It really upset my friend because his intentions were unwanted and out of order, obviously, you know? Sp, then he started kicking off and I was in a shit enough mood as it was, because I'd just received a bad mark on a really fucking long essay I'd handed in, too, so everything was a bit shitty and I went off on one. I got out of there and went for a drive because my housemates were still having the party—which he was still at—and I just drove in circles until I ended up at Asda of all bloody places," he laughs. Louis does too, body relaxing as Harry continues to gently caress Louis' knuckles. "And there you were. Hanging out of a car window, smoking like a chimney with Oasis blaring from your car speakers," he smiles, eyes bright as he turns on his side to face Louis, and God, Louis is having trouble thinking straight (hah) as he stares into Harry's green abysses for eyes, internally face palming the fact that _Falling For You_ by The 1975 has come on (because _really._ What a complete cliche). "And when you immediately turned it down when you caught me looking at you, you just looked so flustered and cold and..."

"And?" Louis smirks, willing the burn in his cheeks to calm now.

"Cute?" Harry almost whispers. 

"I seem to recall you calling me 'pretty' and 'gorgeous' and all sorts before, mate. No point getting shy on me now, Styles," Louis teases.

"I don't know," Harry protests, childlike, blushing. "I'm just saying, you gave me the best night I'd experienced in ages, and I just immediately felt like we clicked, you know? Like I'd known you for so much longer. And you were so nice. _Are_ so nice. I guess I just want you to know that I'm happy to be your friend, that's all," he says, stifling a yawn with his ringed fist.

God. This boy. 

Louis breathes out a happy chuckle and casually reaches over Harry's warm torso, who's biting down a small grin as he watches him, and shakes his empty coffee cup, bringing it to his nose, taking an exaggerated sniff. "Alright, what have you really been drinking from here?" he pretends to wrinkle his nose in shock. "Bloody hell, Harry! That's some strong whiskey in 'ere! Having an Irish coffee, were you?" 

"No, I wasn't!" Harry protests, laughing. "I was being sincere! Stop trying to ruin the moment!"

Louis smirks. 

Harry stares; a blissful smile tugs on his pink bow mouth, hands clasped upon his rising chest. He's utterly beautiful. 

"I think you make me quiet," Louis tells him, voice husky with softness.

"What do you mean?" Harry tilts his head.

"Like, I think you just quieten my mind. My thoughts are always so loud, and I get distracted easily, and they always wander elsewhere, but when I'm with you, it kind of calms me down."

"Really?" Harry beams.

"Yeah," Louis whispers. 

Harry smiles at him so warmly, Louis has to hide his face in his shoulder.

"Right," Louis announces, standing up and making a fuss about it. He pads over to the record player and switches it off. "We better get out of here, Harold. You've got an early one tomorrow and so do I, so come on. Up you scoot." Louis holds out his hands and heaves Harry up, who whines, and pokes at Harry's pout which instantly soothes his furrowed brows and starts to clear up the mess from the floor, with Harry trailing behind him and turning off what needs to be to help Louis.

When they're done, Louis locks up, turning to face Harry who practically lights up in the dark, bouncing on the spot, chin tucked into his coat and hands stuffed in his pockets; the night calm but still as bitterly cold as ever as November (it must be one of the coldest November's on record) dwindles down and gets ready to greet December. 

Oh joy. Christmas decorations will need to be put up in the window tomorrow. Harry will probably more than willing to give him a hand with it though (ahem. Please. Not now brain).

"Can I walk you home?" Harry asks, a bit more subdued now the tiredness has caught up to him, his eyes lidded.

"Sure, you can, love. But only if I get to walk you," he smiles. He really needs to see about borrowing Liam's car more but seeing as most night end like this with Harry, he's going to continue to shamelessly feign the no transportation excuse for the time being.

"Deal." Harry smiles sleepily down at him, sneaking an arm through Louis', and linking their sides together as they make their way home.

**

It's the next day, and Louis wakes up to the sound of banging and crashing at an ungodly hour. He lets a muffled scream of protest, groggily slides out of bed and practically crawls into the kitchen to find Niall up at six thirty in the morning making _breakfast_?

"The fuck are you doing?" Louis hisses, rubbing the backs of his palms into his eyes."My alarm isn't meant to go off for another half hour. Explain yourself. Now."

"Got company, haven't I?" Nall shrugs, suspiciously alert and happy for this time of the morning. He's got black framed glasses on, which infuriates Louis because he doesn't even need them. They're a fashion accessory apparently. Honestly.

"I didn't hear a thing," Louis frowns. Which, thank God. "And since when do you make your overnight guests breakfast?" Louis narrows his eyes.

"Because she's not just an overnight guest, Louis," Niall says, petulant. "She's awesome. I like her a lot, alright," Niall says, defensively. 

"Wow. Alright. Sorry, mate. Well, I'm happy for you, Nialler," he smiles, patting his friend on the back as he pads over to the kettle and retrieves a mug and a tea bag.

"And you didn't hear anything because you were out like a light," Niall adds, cracking an egg and dropping into the sizzling pan. "I sneaked my head in your room last night and checked. Sleeping like a baby, you were," he coos. "It was cute. You've been able to sleep much better in general later, I've noticed." Niall gets out a frying pan and dollops some olive oil in the middle, turning on the gas, eyes on him curiously. 

"Yeah, I guess," Louis shrugs. Sweet dreams with a Harry Styles in them will do wonders for sleep, it seems.

"So, you and this guy you've been seeing so much of lately. Am I gonna get to meet the lucky guy who's getting some Louis lovin'?" Niall grins, wagging his eyebrows.

"You're an embarrassment, you know that?"

"What? You're obviously gone for the guy. You're never home anymore."

"It's not like that. We're just mates."

"Mates who fuck?"

"No! Niall, please! Alright, look. I do like Harry, like in _that_ way. A lot. But I'm still figuring out what Harry wants. He seems fine and content with us being friends at the moment. And sometimes I think he wants more, yeah, but I'm not one hundred percent on that yet, and it's great right now. It is. We get on so well and it's so easy and fun, even when we're doing nothing."

Louis sighs.

"Ugh, he's wonderful, Niall," Louis whines, leaning his head on Niall's shoulder, Niall snakes a hand around his waist as he watches his egg fry. "But what if I've let things go on too long and he'd rather we stay just friends?"

Because he is. Harry is just _Harry_. 

"You've not known him that long, surely?"

"Well, no. But still."

Niall looks thoughtful a moment. "Well, a mate of mine is having a party at his house later. He's proper loaded, a bit posh, I guess. In a hipster kind of way." Louis rolls his eyes. "I was just gonna invite you, but you can bring a plus one? Bring your mystery guy, yeah? Get him drunk, dance, turn it into a bit of grinding and he'll be yours by the end of the night."

"How romantic," Louis deadpans.

"I'm tellin' ya," Niall laughs. "Oh, shit," he says, skidding to the toaster to retrieve his burnt toast, and scowling at the blackened pieces of bread. 

Louis gets out his phone, smirking at Niall's failing attempt at a breakfast in bed moment. 

_Party tonight at one of my roommate's mates' house? It's well posh apparently. Be my plus one?? :) xx_

_Definitely_ _!! :) xxx_

**

The party later that night isn’t much different to most of the parties Louis normally attends: they mainly consist of consuming more alcohol in their systems than there is blood, and passing out on every surface of furniture available of their dingy flat.

But this place. If he could whistle, he so would. It's a far cry from his stained carpets and damp covered walls. This place is four times the size of his flat, very posh and expensive looking, as he expected, and there's a minimal, neutral colour scheme for the interior going on and fancy glass doors and weird, abstract paintings hung on the tall walls.

There’s a remixed version of _Hymn For The Weekend_ playing obnoxiously loud, and Louis and Harry share a pleased look at the Coldplay track. The beat pounds in the background, reverberating off the delicate furniture, a hoard of bodies stood around, one couple already up and attempting abysmal dance moves that swiftly turns into frantic grinding on the other. Oh, no. That's Niall. That is actually, Niall. Good lord. 

“You alright?” Harry shouts over the music, a grin already pinned to that unfairly pretty face of his. God, Louis is infatuated with it. “Bit loud in ‘ere!”

“Just a bit!” Louis shouts back, grinning and holding his hands over his ears exaggeratedly. Harry's eyes stay fixed to his. “Let’s get a drink!”

Harry nods, as enthusiastic as an eager puppy and blindly takes Louis’ hand. “Okay!”

He takes the lead and guides Louis through the crowd, barely able to make out where they’re going when a bottle is suddenly popped open and the two of them are completely doused in _champagne_ of all things, fizz dripping off the ends of their hair as they stare at each other with round saucer eyes, frozen to the spot.

“Oh... my... God,” Harry drawls, shocked and shoulders stiff, looking like a drowned, disgruntled kitten.

Louis gapes at him, speechless, bodies continuing to dance to the hectic repetitive beat of the next dance track currently playing. The culprit has scarpered into the crowd pronto. Unbelievable. 

Then they simultaneously burst into hysterics, clutching their stomachs as they stumble into the spotless, gigantic kitchen in search of tea towels and napkins to clean up with.

Louis takes Harry’s fizz-sticky hand and starts to wipe at it with a damp cloth, ignoring the curious eyebrow raises of Niall and Liam as they enter the kitchen.

“The fuck happened to you two?” Niall cackles, helping himself to another drink. "Hang on, I'll get Matt to loan Harry another shirt," he says, wandering out of the kitchen with his beer.

Liam eyes them closely, his scrutinizing gaze similar to the one he gave them the first time he caught Harry at the shop. “So how did you guys meet? Lou's never said.”

Harry’s eyes flit to Louis, expectant.

Louis ignores the question and continues to pet and wipe at Harry’s pliant face like he’s a baby bird. He’s being extremely motherly right now, he realises, but can’t seem to stop tending to Harry. It’s just champagne for Christ’ sake, he tells himself sharply, that he should let Harry do this himself like the grown man he is, Liam’s eyes still burning into the back of his head.

"Well?" Liam presses, tone light. A weird look passes over his face like he's up to something. Hmm.

"Harry and I met via a fortunate accident, we've become good friends and that's all you need to know, Liam."

Harry merely stands in front of him, fond eyes drooping closed every now and then, docile and patient as Louis cleans him up. It mostly got on his shirt and his face so his hair is generally safe. Louis on the other hand no longer smells like the aftershave he had on after being cleaned with alcoholic bubbles, and his hair is now a flat, sticky mess.

Louis walks over to the sink, washes his hands and turns back around to see Niall throwing Harry a black and white striped shirt at Harry's wet chest. Louis watches with fondness and surging affection in his chest as Niall helps a giggly Harry remove his champagne doused shirt, and de-tangle his hair from the top of it, and gapes when Harry reveals his naked, toned chest, the smooth, creamy planes of his skin on display.

Holy wow.

Then in walks the host, Matt, whose eyes immediately bulge from the sockets and an almost predatory grin takes over his face. Louis immediately hates him. His hair is fucking stupid, like a brunette Jedward twin.

"My word, what's going on here? Here, let me help you!" Stupid Hair laughs, dashing over to Harry—who is now topless. "It is my shirt after all," he grins, helping Harry into the sleeves. Harry catches Louis' eye and his smile falters when he sees Louis' adamant scowl. "I'm Matt, I'm hosting," he says, holding out a hand.

"Harry," he greets, taking his hand. "Thanks for the shirt," Harry says, polite and smiling significantly more subdued.

"You'll have to owe me a dance later for that," Matt says, winking. 

Harry makes a nervous sound that's supposed to be a laugh, but Louis knows better. He surges forward and catches Harry's smooth hand. "Not before me he's not, mate," Louis quips, and Harry almost guffaws, hand slapping over his mouth as he lets Louis drag him to the living room.

**

Louis has been dancing with Harry for a while now, the buzz of alcohol pumping through their bloodstreams and getting progressively more sweaty. Louis doesn’t even have a clue how long they’ve been dancing for, only feels pleasantly lost in the hot press of Harry’s hips, knocking and grazing his body, leaving Louis breathless.

It’s disorientating, being this close to Harry. Louis is becoming more and more hot and bothered by it.

They ended up talking (or rather shouting) for ages in a broodingly lit corner of the room on a sleek leather sofa, knees bumping together as they sat sprawled out, drinks in hands, eyes glazed. That is until a tall, handsome stranger spotted Louis amongst the hectic movement of bodies across the crowded makeshift dancefloor, and since then Harry hasn’t left Louis’ side. 

"You can go and talk to other people, you know," Louis told him, giving his arm a squeeze. Just to test it. He doesn't want him to think he has to stick with Louis all night.

Harry shook his head adamantly. "No, I want to stay with you. I'm your plus one, right? It'd be rude to fuck off," Harry said, face serious.

Louis burst out laughing.

"What?" Harry smiled, fingers encircling Louis' wrist in a loose grip.

"Nothing, love," Louis beamed. "I'm glad you're my plus one, that's all."

He felt Harry tighten his grip around Louis' wrist, smile pressed and eyes luminous in the blue hue of the room. (Louis likes to think it’s because Harry is a little jealous. Or a lot—judging by the scary glares he was sending the guy’s way. Louis' only a bit smug).

Now they're on the dancefloor together and Harry's chest is glistening with a thin sheen of sweat, beads of it surfacing across his forehead, as the blue lights reflect in Harry’s bright, glossy eyes and Louis is drowning in them, swirling around like a fish out of water inside his irises, heart beating intermittently behind his ribs, thumping against his chest almost painfully. A loose curl droops into them, so Louis reaches up to sweep it behind Harry’s ear, whose eyes are transfixed on Louis, tracking the movement intently. Harry wordlessly takes hold of Louis’ wrist, holding it in a firm but gentle grip. Fingertips burn into sweaty skin, chests getting ever closer until they’re pressed flush to the other. Harry's arms sneak around Louis’ waist, large hands planting themselves steadily on both of his sides.

Their gazes meet.

Slowly at first, and then gradually in time with the quickening synthetic beat, Harry grinds his hips down and Louis lets a gasp tumble from his dry lips, closes his eyes and leans his forehead on Harry's shoulder, involuntarily bucking up to meet him. Their laboured breaths are hot on each other’s skin and Louis buries his face in the nape of Harry’s neck, breathing him in. Harry presses the side of his clammy face to Louis’ hair, bending his legs down slightly and moving with the music, panting into his ear the faster they move, the sounds making Louis dizzy as Harry continuously grinds down, and shoves his leg between Louis’ thighs as the music speeds up, a whimper leaving his mouth that goes straight to Louis' dick.

Holy shit.

Louis' just about to suggest they get the fuck out of here when they're rudely interrupted by a guy in a plaid shirt, a shock of red hair atop his head, smiling with recognition at Harry, a hand tapping him on the shoulder.

"Huh?" Harry slurs, removing his cheek from Louis' and swings around at the touch. "Oh, hey!" he suddenly exclaims, breaking free of Louis' hold. Louis pouts, watching the red head and Harry converse fondly. Things were _just_ getting interesting. Ugh.

"When did you get here?" the guy shouts, the beat changing to a slower track but no less generic. "I've not heard from you in a while, mate. You're not still mad at me, are you?" he says, sneaking his hand to Harry's side. Louis frowns, zeroing in on the friendly contact.

"Course not!" Harry grins drunkenly, dopily. "Actually I need to talk to you about that later."

The guy grins back, nodding. "Okay, cool. Who's this then?"

"Oh," Harry beams. "This is Louis," he says proudly, and Harry's hand brushes down Louis' chest, leaving sparks behind through the fabric of his shirt as the pads of his fingers linger. 

Fuck.

"Louis?" the guy repeats, eyebrows raised. He looks both surprised and confused for some reason.

"Alright?" Louis greets, nods, smiling.

The guy looks between them both, brows knitted together, mouth parted as though he's about to say something that's on the tip of his tongue.

"Yeah, good," Red Head replies politely. "Harry, can I have a word a sec?" he says just as pleasantly, smiling brightly again, almost smirking.

Harry nods enthusiastically, and Louis feels a hand rest on the small of his back. He looks up to see Harry gazing down at him with adoring eyes and Louis presses his lips together to suppress the overwhelmingly wide grin surfacing, then he's leaning in close and hovers by Louis' ear. Louis shivers.

"I'll be back in a minute," Harry murmurs lowly. "Don't go anywhere," he tells him, the deep rumble of his voice against his neck sending sharp shivers down Louis' spine.

Louis is officially weak at the knees.

"Wouldn't dream of it," he says, breathless. 

Yeah, Louis' a goner.

**

While Louis waits for Harry to return, he appears to have apparently passed out on the sofa, and he wakes to Niall and Liam hauling him up, both of his arms slung on either side of his friends' shoulders.

They get him outside in the freezing night air, planting him in the passenger seat of Liam's car when Louis hears footsteps tap against concrete and Louis blearily turns to see Harry running down the steps.

"Sorry, was just saying goodbye to some mates," Harry says, eyes almost shut, legs unsteady. He heavily plonks himself in the backseat with an amused Niall, and just before he puts his seat belt on, he leans forward and checks on Louis, running a clumsy hand through his hair. Louis automatically leans into the touch. "Sorry, I disappeared for a bit. Didn't realise I was so long," he mumbles in his ear, eyelids flickering open and closed, breath tinged with the sharp scent of vodka.

"'s okay, love," Louis slurs, as Liam buckles him in.

"You two are utterly pissed," Niall comments, chuckling under his breath but his own voice sounds fatigued as well.

"You're all lucky that I'm always available to be the designated driver," Liam scolds as he gets in and starts the engine, but he catches Liam's smirk at Harry's head leaning atop Louis' from the backseat, eyes shut.

"Sit back now, Harry," Liam tells him softly, and Niall drags him back, securing his seat belt for him. 

Louis falls asleep with Harry's fingers entangled with his.

**

Coffee machines whir and sizzle and grind, occasionally drowning out Louis and Harry’s hushed conversations, their worsening breathless giggles more often than not ending in both of them spluttering creamy espressos all over each other’s knit jumpers.

Louis feels drunk, or high, like really bloody sloshed, (is it possible to be sloshed, besotted, mad on a person you’ve known barely four weeks??) like he’s just inhaled a shit ton of vodka too fast.

Harry’s wearing that particularly fetching lilac jumper he loves so much, his curls pushed back with a black headscarf and it makes his skin look even paler, like a porcelain doll’s, and his lips are glossy and red and Louis’ noticed Harry tends to gnaw on them whenever Louis says something really fucking silly, as if he’s trying to tone down his unabashed laughter in the warm, burgundy glow of the coffee shop their jumper clad limbs are currently sprawled in.

Knees are bent and tucked under thighs atop the large cushioned seats in the corner, pulling on sleeves and fiddling with tepid handles of their ceramic mugs. Louis tugs down the fabric of his ribbed, light blue jumper over his hands, attention focused on the way Harry’s eyes catch the light in the warm hue of their muted surroundings, most people having left as it approaches closing time, probably off to get ready to hit the clubs.

Though Louis feels like he may have forgotten something he was supposed to do today, but he can’t bring himself to care when Harry hasn’t stopped giggling.

Neither has Louis, who giggles at Harry giggling at him, heart beating erratically, cheeks kissed with the warm flush of sated ease, hands clammy as he picks up his bulky mug containing a caramel macchiato—his second tonight, amongst all the shots of espresso.

So it’s safe to say Louis won’t be sleeping tonight, knees shaking with adrenaline, or the caffeine or Harry.

And he can’t say he even wants to sleep really.

He wants to stay up into the early hours, listening to the soothing rumble of Harry’s deep voice, to the weird noises he makes in the back of his throat to the hiccups he accidentally releases when he laughs into his coffee, spluttering and coughing, face turning red—all sounds which caress Louis' helpless innards, and swipe soft touches all over his goose bumped skin.

Because Harry finds him utterly hilarious. Louis’ the funniest person in the world to him apparently and Harry laughs like a hyena on margaritas at everything Louis says. Everything. Even if it’s not that funny.

It’s really not good for Louis’ ego.

Terrible, even.

Liam would be appalled—which reminds him was he almost forgot—Louis has another 'date' lined up in a few hours, and he’s sitting here with Harry steadily becoming more and more charmed. Louis insisted he didn't want one, didn't need one, but Liam said the guy is invited (to a get together they're having Friday night) anyway so it's not a big deal. He can either talk to him or not. 

Louis thinks not.

Harry’s breathless laughter finally starts to dwindle, the sheen of his jade eyes silken and twinkling kittenishly (because Harry actually _is_  an overgrown kitten), his blinks slow and droopy, half-lidded, as he licks his lips just as devastatingly slowly. The air suspended between them feels thick and electric. 

Harry stares at Louis, lingering and fervent. "I really like this song," he drawls lazily.

"What it is?" 

"It's a song called _Dizzy on the Comedown._ It's by a band called Turnover."

"Oh, yeah," Louis clicks his fingers. "Great band, them. Saw them at a gig last year with Liam." Louis listens intently as the chorus comes on and Louis recognises it instantly.

_Would you come here and spin with me?_

_I've been dying to get you dizzy,_

_Find a way up into your head,_

_So I can make you feel like new again_

"It reminds me of you," Harry says, cautious and quiet.

"Does it?"

Harry nods once, stare unwavering. It reminds Louis of the way he looked that first night, gaze intense like he's staring right into Louis' brain. This boy has galaxies in his eyes, swirling with supernovas and as bright as the brightest stars. 

Then Harry shifts suddenly, exhaling a short, barely audible breath, stands up and goes to sit on the same seat as Louis.

Louis blinks up at him, watches as Harry makes himself comfortable, fitting in snugly, thighs against thighs. Has an internal breakdown where their bodies are touching as ripples of warmth surge through Louis’ bones all the way down to his tips of his cold toes.

“Alright here, are we? Quite comfy?” Louis smiles, instinctively turning his body toward Harry.

Harry nods lazily. “Mmhmm,” he hums happily. “I’m really glad we met, Louis,” he says, earnest green eyes staring back at Louis, absorbing Louis’ face, and Louis absorbs Harry’s right back.

“Getting all soppy on me now, are you?” Louis says back, folding his hands and placing them between his lap.

Harry's lips upturn brilliantly. “There’s probably so many parallel universes or something where we don’t ever meet. But I’m glad I get to know you in this one.”

“Harry,” Louis says, voice laced with affection, face spreading into a blushing grin. God, how does he just come out and say these things?

“Aren’t you going to say you’re glad to know me too?” he prompts, a glint in his eye, pouting.

“I think I would like to send Fate a fruit basket, or whatever kind of pampering gift she should so desire as thanks for allowing me to meet your very special self, Harry Styles,” he quips.

Harry grins wide, tilting his head to the side a bit in that adorable way he does when he’s pleased as punch and knows how cute he is doing it.

Then everything seems to slow down. Harry’s blinks are unhurried and droopy, half-lidded, and he licks his lips just as devastatingly slowly. 

“I think you might be my favourite person,” Harry whispers, and Louis grins, ducks his head as he brushes his chin over the slightly rough fabric of his jumper.

Harry grins.

“Want to know a secret?” Louis whispers almost against Harry’s mouth. Louis is actually seven years old.

“Always.” Harry quiets, face calm and a bit dazed.

"I think you might be my favourite, too."

Harry beams, and then a barista is coming over and informing them that they're closing now, so the moment is effectively ruined.

"We're having a thing tomorrow night at mine," Louis says as they get up, shrugging on their coats. "Just a little get together. We'll get pizza in and some booze and make a night in of it. Wanna come?"

"Of course," Harry smiles.

"Good."

"Good."

They exchange one more giggly smile before Harry links his arm with Louis' and make their way out into the dark, chilly December evening.

**

When Friday night comes around, things start to get messy.

It's starts out fine at first, despite the fact that rain is bucketing down outside, the occasional crackle of lightning and rumble of thunder making itself known, but they’re all inside, warm and buzzed and gathered on the hideous maroon carpet of Louis and Niall’s flat. Louis’ face twists and his nose wrinkles with repugnance—especially as leaning his hands on it feels rough and uncomfortable—but no one seems to care, everyone’s minds far too hazy from consuming a number of spirits and rums with Diet Coke.

They hauled the coffee table to the side of the room so they could all sit in a circle and play drinking games like bloody children (Harry suggested it, clapping his hands like a baby seal and Louis was overruled—Liam was suspiciously for the idea, Niall just shrugged and poured himself another whiskey and coke), the air perfumed with not only the scent of Louis’ vanilla candles littering the outskirts of the tiny living room, but also with their loud, delighted shouts and drunken laughter, drowning out the low crooning of Rihanna’s new album, which in turn, elicited a particularly obscene response from Niall once _Kiss It Better_ came on. He rolled over and proceeded to pretend (Louis hopes) to vigorously grind against the floor (like the sexual deviant he is), prompting Harry and even Liam to burst into hysterical laughter at the shocking display.

Louis wanted to wipe the image from his brain with bleach.

But it’s good. Great, even. Louis is feeling unusually content, his chest light as a feather. And the mystery guest that Liam invited hasn't turned up yet, is likely not going to turn up at all at this rate and Louis can't say he minds even in the slightest.

Which kind of says it all.

There's only one person Louis wants to be with at any given time of the day and he's sitting right beside him.

“I’m fucking starving,” Niall suddenly announces, standing up on wobbly stick legs, bending his raggedy limbs in all sorts of weird positions before Niall finally finds his balance and pads into the kitchen.

“You had a shit ton of Nandos not two hours ago, you bottomless pit!” Louis calls after him, eyes fond and face warm.

Particularly warm.

What with Harry’s leg pressed firmly against his, their backs leaning on the edge of the sofa and drinks nestled between their laps.

Louis sighs dramatically, eyes instantly caught on Harry’s intoxicating gaze as he turns back to face him, absently aware that _Heart Out_ by The 1975 has just started playing.

Harry stretched his arms above his head and makes a noise that’s a mixture of undefined protest and a happy whine (whatever that is, if it even exists—but with Harry it apparently does. Louis has decided to call it Harry’s pouty baby noise—not that he’s said this out loud. God no.) But he seems to make this noise on random occasions where he and Louis get a bit overly handsy and excited, like they're smitten kittens, which he supposes they kind of are?

Because Louis is sure now. After spending these weeks with him, Harry definitely _likes_ him, likes him. 

Louis certainly isn't looking for only a friendship with Harry, and he'd very much like those plump, crimson Snow White lips on his about now. 

Harry lazily shifts, eyelids drooping, a dopey smile on his glowing face as he sits back on his haunches and just stares at Louis, his daisy crown askew. Louis had discovered it behind the till at the shop earlier and plonked it on Harry's head as soon as he arrived announcing, "Spring is here! All hail for Spring!" which elicited an elated smile and an all encompassing hug from the lovely boy.

A smirk tugs at his shiny red lips, and he takes another big sip of his vodka and coke.

Harry is decidedly tipsy. Very tipsy, and the very picture of bright pink cartoon hearts in his eyes.

Louis feels light headed just looking at him.

“What are you smiling about?” Louis wonders aloud, bites down on his lip as Harry smiles, wide eyed with flushed cheeks, hair askew. “Hmm? What exactly could you be so pleased about, eh?” Louis coos, tickling a finger under his chin, bent knees falling forwards.

Dear God. Louis is a sap. Any excuse to touch Harry and he’s thought of it.

Harry merely giggles, cute fucker that he is, leaning forward and for a split heart stopping second Louis thinks he’s going to kiss him. Right here. With Liam’s eyes on them, one eyebrow raised in curiosity.

Liam’s lying on his back with an arms behind his head, phone resting on his toned stomach, and he’s watching Louis and Harry carefully.

Which is weird.

He’s taken a keen interest in Harry tonight, giving him twenty questions while Louis glares at Liam with daggers in his eyes, but Harry, bless his squishy, cotton bud heart, has answered them all easily, taking Liam’s questioning in his stride, all with a charming smile glossed over his pretty little face.

It’s been like this all night.

He’s been giving Louis these odd looks that Louis can only describe as Liam’s where-the-fuck-did-I-leave-my-phone face upon realising his many compromising naked photos are stored in it and he’s under very real threat from Louis obtaining it and sending the photos to his entire contact list.

Of course, Louis would never actually do that to him.

Liam wouldn’t put it past him though. Especially when Louis is stone drunk.

Before Harry does or doesn’t get to kiss him though, the lights start to briefly flicker and then suddenly everything goes snuffs out, leaving the whole flat in darkness, save for the moonlight peaking through the window blinds and reflecting on the wall.

Fucking super.

“Where the fuck has the light gone?” yells Niall.

“Oh, shit,” Louis says with gusto. He can feel puffs of Harry’s warm breath on his face. “Alright, who knows how to check the... metre, is it? The electrical metre. Or whatever? Wherever that is,” Louis calls to the dark unhelpfully.

He hears movement and then Liam’s voice says, “It’s the whole street. Look.” Liam’s silhouette says, holding the blinds opens with his fingers.

“Must be the storm then,” Harry says extremely nonchalantly, slurring a little, as if this is of no inconvenience to him whatsoever.

Niall though has other feelings towards this apparent blackout.

“Oh, fucking hell!” Niall’s footsteps race into the kitchen and he releases a very dramatic battle cry. “I was heating my pizza up! It was only in there for twelve seconds! That’s not nearly enough time to warm it up,” he practically whimpers. Louis can hear him trying to pry open the microwave in the dark. Louis knows he’s likely stuffed a tepid slice in his mouth regardless.

“Right then,” Louis sighs, getting up and walking off to his bedroom, and smirks when he feels the tentative pads of Harry’s fingers linger on his waist, following him.

“What are you doing?” asks the content rumbling of Harry’s voice behind him, keeping close. Louis shivers as Harry’s hot breath tickles the spot directly under his earlobe.

Louis turns around and flicks his lighter, producing a scented candle glass in his free hand and passes it to Harry who takes it automatically, wordlessly glancing curiously around Louis’ room. It’s not much more than dark purple walls, with a few Doncaster Rovers and England posters stuck to them, as well as some colour Polaroid pictures of his friends and family bordering his body-length mirror, and an unmade bed in the corner next to his pine wooden wardrobe—which is just about ready to bust open with the piles and piles of clothes stuffed inside. And that’s excluding the clothes strewn all over his floor too.

It’s a complete mess. Louis’ only a little embarrassed. “We need light, don’t we?”

Louis grabs a couple more candles from his drawers, struggling to hold them in one hand. Harry takes those too, until he’s holding three candles in both of his large hands.

“What?” Harry asks, blinking, when Louis gapes at his handsy capabilities.

“Nothing. Nothing at all,” Louis says a bit too quickly, and begins making his way back out into the living room. “Come on along, then, Harold. Don’t dawdle.”

He hears Harry’s soft giggles as he leaves his bedroom and smiles to himself, utterly content. 

**

Louis and Harry light crisp apple scented candles around the flat (it’s a good job he has so many of them), as elbows bump, hands brush and arms press together purposefully, as Harry crowds Louis' space with a sly look in his sparkling eyes so that Louis can barely get the candles lit, making Louis snicker and giggle and yell as he clutches his stomach.

“Get away from me or you’ll set me alight you maniac!” Louis says and Harry beams, the planes of his face cast in shadows.

“But you’re hot enough already,” Harry groans, and Louis is completely unaffected by that sound, has absolutely no reaction at all. Yeah. “I’m the one who’ll be bursting into flames!”

“God, the things you say, Harold,” Louis says under his breath, but Harry catches it, smirking as he lowers his head.

“Right,” Louis announces, takes a step back to admire his and Harry’s work. “I think that’s enough now.”

There’s more than enough.

Really.

“You don’t think it looks a bit sacrificial now, do you?” Harry says, trying not to laugh.

Louis glances at him, about to feign offence but the two of them burst into raucous giggles when there's a knock at the door.

Liam opens it to a group of people, most of whom Louis’ never seen before.

“Um, hello?” Liam says, brows knitted together. "Can I help you?"

“My children!” Niall bellows, holding out his arms as he’s attacked by the crowd of prettily dressed up people (hipsters) in a bear hug—they look like they’re about to go clubbing and Niall is apparently their king.

These strange, noisy hipsters end up coming inside to join their evening, because Niall's friends with everyone and their mother, and invited them all to stay without even running it by Louis first, and so Spin The Bottle gets a whole lot rowdier and a lot messier.

Louis hates this.

No, he hates Niall.

“I hate you,” he breathes icily in Niall’s ear, paired with his most deadly glare as they all gather in a circle on the carpet, the room still illuminated by the apple scented candles. Not that anyone will notice the lovely smell once they're wasted.

“Relax, Lou. It’s only a bit of fun. You've heard of that right?” Niall whispers back, smirking. “Besides, you might even get to kiss Harry!” he winks, grinning from ear to ear, his cheeks a bright shade of red.

“This fucking idiotic game can and will break hearts, you dick.” _His heart,_ he doesn't say. Louis’ heart. Louis’ heart is going to be massacred into tiny pieces if all of these people end up snogging Harry’s face off in front of his very eyes. 

Louis is sitting next to Harry, cross-legged and squeezes his hands together so tightly he might break his knuckles at this rate. He feels sick. Maybe he’s had too much to drink already.

“Stop overreacting and just join in will you!” Niall demands, shoving him on the shoulder and Louis nearly topples over at the force of it. Louis' still glaring when he feels a warm palm on rest atop his thigh.

“Alright?” Harry murmurs, smiling softly.

Louis smiles back instantly, body relaxing under Harry’s touch. “Yeah,” he breathes. 

Harry gives his thigh a possessive squeeze. (Or Louis wants it to be possessive. It is. He’s decided.)

“Okay, who’s first?” Niall says excitedly. 

“I'll go first if no one objects!” announces a guy called Matt apparently, a hipster with ridiculously high, quaffed hair, and oh. Shit. It's Jedward's Brunette Twin, the host of that house party they were at the other week, the one where Harry was Louis' plus one. 

God. Dammit.

As soon as he entered the room he made a beeline for Harry, (which of course he did! He was all over him last time, too) and Harry being his charming, well-mannered, lovely self took Stupid Hair’s undivided attention in his stride, as is custom for Harry, while Stupid Hair touched and petted his arm and didn't even attempt to do it discreetly either. Harry laughed and laughed, and Matt laughed and laughed, albeit slightly more sinister than Harry’s adorable sounds, and every one was a dagger to his chest.

These are dark times.

Matt spins the bottle with practiced ease. And of course. Of fucking course, the bottle lands on Harry.

Louis’ stomach drops.

“Ooh! Kiss, kiss, kiss!” pipes up a blonde girl on his left with pink streaks in her hair and bright red lipstick on.

Louis glares at her, though she isn’t even giving him a second glance.

Obviously Matt immediately lights up at the fact he gets to kiss Harry. Prick. "Pucker up, sweetheart," he cackles. What?! Who talks like that? Louis wants to scream. "Oh, and I want my shirt back!"

Harry’s eyes widen at the bottle pointing to him. He looks uncomfortable, shifting clumsily in his spot on the carpet next to Louis. Or maybe that’s Louis’ wishful thinking. He turns to look at Louis, eyes round and imploring, a tiny crease between his brows, but he doesn't say anything, and after a few moments, he turns back to the circle.

Maybe he wants Louis to stop this? Maybe he doesn't want to play this game like Louis doesn't want to play it.

But then Harry’s face breaks into an amused smile, and he makes a show of rolling up the dangling sleeves of his cerise floral shirt. “Hang on,” Harry says, full on grinning, and knocks back his vodka and coke which is mostly vodka, Louis can smell it.

Louis frowns, mouth slightly falling open as he watches him, his tummy doing weird things to his insides, and his expression probably looks absolutely dire right now. Of course Liam notices, mouths a concerned, “Are you okay?” Louis’ way from across the circle.

Louis just turns his attention back to Harry as Matt leans in, crawling over to Harry and making a right show of it like the twat he is, practically prowling like a lion about to make a move on his mate (ugh) and smacks an obnoxious kiss to Harry’s lovely lips.

Louis counts in his head, ignoring the irritating squealing and exaggerated laughter and encouragement (most of which is coming from Niall. He’s going to murder that boy).

One...two...three...

Harry giggles as he pulls away and sits back on his haunches, cheeks red and slides a hand through his hair timidly. Harry clears his throat, still smiling as everyone woops and cheers. Louis’ face twists in disgust.

Well. Harry certainly enjoyed that. Louis’ heart deflates like a balloon. This game fucking sucks.

“Next!” Niall bellows, lager bottle now to his glistening lips, gulping the stuff down like a bloody sailor.

“Doesn’t the last person who the bottle landed on get to spin next?” Liam asks, pouring out another drink on the floor. He catches Louis’ gaze, a knowing look on his face.

“Oh, yay! My turn!” Harry yells, or slurs more accurately, clapping his hands with fitful enthusiasm, eyes glazed over and slightly bloodshot. Yeah, he’s definitely drunk now.

Louis isn't far off.

And lone and behold it lands back on Matt again. And they kiss. Again.

Granted these kisses are not actual, passionate, full on kisses with tongues or anything but their lips are touching, even if it is rather chastely but they’re likely managing to swap saliva still and Louis wants to crawl away into a hole and wallow in the darkness this instant.

(Or punch Matt in the face. That would work too.)

Instead, Louis stares longingly like a lovesick puppy as Liam put it, and wills the bottle the land on someone other the boy he’s falling head first into misery for.

**

As the night goes on, so do the lights, and with a few exceptions, the bottle seems to always land back on Harry (fucking God. WHY), whether it be girls and guys and fucking Matt again. Even Niall got to kiss Harry! But to spare Louis’ feelings, Niall merely kissed Harry sloppily on the cheek which Louis was grateful for.

It doesn’t matter that they’re mostly just sloppy pecks, Louis is currently the definition (and likely the spitting image) of the Grumpy Cat.

Whenever the bottle does spin and miraculously, infuriatingly lands on Harry though, Harry still seems to eye Louis warily before someone else pipes up for him to kiss so and so. Maybe he's feeling guilty. But then why would that be? (Louis knows why he wants that to be.) But Harry’s having fun and he’s got a shit ton of alcohol pumping through his veins, and it’s not like Louis is his boyfriend...

Harry is free to do whatever he wants.

Meanwhile, Liam continues to send pitying glances Louis’ way, passes drink after drink to Louis whenever he so demands one with a reluctant hand.

Until the bottle _finally_ lands on Louis.

“Oh, is it me, then?” Louis slurs, vision a bit bleary. He swipes his fringe from his eyes and seeks out the person who spun last. "Finally. Was beginning to wonder why I was even 'ere!"

“Yep,” says James, grinning. Louis likes James. He went to uni with him but lost contact until Niall happened to befriend him and here is, puckering up to kiss Louis with eager eyes. “And it looks like I’m the first lucky guy who gets to kiss you tonight."

Louis can’t help it—he risks a glance at Harry, who has gone stiff at Louis’ side, the smirk permanently present on Harry's sweat sheened face suddenly wiped clean off. Louis gulps, feeling like shit.

Wooping and egging on follows and James crawls on his knees over to Louis, and leans in, attaching his lips to Louis'.

And. Well. It’s not just a peck. It’s a _snog,_ a dirty one at that. Louis inhales through his nose, a bit shellshocked as James' mouth moves hastily over his (truthfully, Louis always suspected James had a thing for him. He seemed to accidentally touch Louis far too many times to be truly ‘accidental’), and Louis is dizzy and suddenly he feels a tad queasy. Of course not from the kiss, because it’s a nice kiss, but because he feels suspiciously as though he’s about to be—

“I’m gonna be sick,” Louis croaks out.

He heaves himself up from the floor and practically stumbles into the bathroom, immediately begins to retch up the entire contents of his booze full stomach.

Then there’s a knock at the door. Louis half-expects it to be Harry, but it’s not.

“Louis, you okay in there? I’ll try my best not to be too offended that you literally threw up after I kissed you,” James says, tone light, amused. There’s a roar of collective laughter and half-hearted calls of sympathy from the living room.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” Louis whispers, flushing the toilet and washing his face with cold water at the sink. 

James slinks in cautiously and for a moment he can see Harry staring, face miserable, as James shuts the door again.

It stabs at Louis' chest.

He just wants Harry.

“Alright?”

“I’m so sorry about that. It wasn’t you, I think I’ve had too much to drink by now.”

“Well, it was too be expected with the way you’ve been chucking them back all night,” James says, giving Louis a knowing look. “So how long have you liked Harry?”

“Is it that obvious?” Louis groans, slumping to the bathroom floor, resting his head against the tub.

James sits down next to him and laughs. “Mate, you looked like you wanted to throw the bottle against the bloody wall. If it’s any consolation, Harry’s probably just having a laugh. He’s had just as much as you to drink too, and I’m sure he’s not thinking he’s hurting you in any way. He's glances at you every time it lands on him, you know. Like he’s silently asking you to butt in or something.”

“You think so?” Louis has caught Harry’s questioning stares, as though he’s daring Louis to stop it and just kiss him instead.

Ugh, what if he has?

"Oh, and um, Liam invited me tonight. If only to prompt Harry into a jealous rage or something," James admits, chuckling.

"What?" Louis says, mouth agape. "He did what?"

"Don't worry, I was in on it. I think it might have worked though," he shrugs.

Louis groans rather loudly. "Oh, God. That's just... Ugh! God!"

“I’d tone down the groaning and moaning if I were you,” James snickers. “They might think we’re getting up to something in here.”

Louis groans again and James cackles. His eyes are bloodshot. He’s likely quite wasted too. Still, wise though. Good man is James, who has also been sending him sympathetic looks since he arrived half way through the game, and somehow he immediately noticed Louis’ miserable pining and growing irritation at a very drunk Harry being passed around to smooch like a ragdoll.

“Shit. Yeah, it does sound a bit questionable,” he winces. “I don’t want Harry to think we’re—”

“No, you don’t. Come on.” James stands, hauling Louis up and escorts him out the door and back into the living room, which erupts with ‘ehhhh!”

Louis sits down, feeling a bit mortified and sheepishly avoids Harry’s burning gaze on the side of his face, aware Harry’s about to ask him something (probably if he’s alright) when he spies someone in leopard print leggings bringing out a box.

"Lou," Harry says, eyes worried. "Are you okay, babe?"

Babe.

Somehow Harry calling him 'babe' makes him feel even worse.

"'M fine," he nods, forcing a smile.

And yep. Enough is enough because now these hipsters have to decided to play _Twister._

Fuck no.

And Louis is not in the mood to watch Matt try to entangle his gangly limbs with Harry’s in all sorts of flexible positions, right in front of his eyes. No, thank you.

Louis scoots back up off his floor and drags James along with him.

**

So James has kept him company, kept him laughing, and more importantly—kept his mind off Harry for the last couple of hours, as the time approaches well into the early hours of the morning.

However, as soon as they got up, Harry’s eyes seemed to follow them to their little corner of the room, just by the record player. Louis started to feel much better, though, and against his better judgement, he started knocking the drinks back again. Bad move, in retrospect.

Louis tried not to glance at Harry, only sneaking quick looks when he was unable to help himself, steadily getting more and more drunk to the point where he’s now utterly sloshed, and still, his heart is hammering inside his chest, not so much from the drink, but from the way Harry is intently watching them whenever Louis does look up.

Harry is sitting on the sofa, Matt pressed to his side and talking at him vigorously, and yet Harry's eyes are still always on Louis and James.

But he’s too tired and drunk to deal with this thing with Harry right now, so when James suggests he sleep over at his tonight—because it seems this get together is going to last until morning at this rate—he gratefully agrees.

And Louis pretends he doesn’t see Harry’s face drop drastically as James leads him out the door.

**

It's the morning after, and Louis slumps onto his stool, head utterly pounding, and takes out his journal, ignoring the clipboard listing the new stock deliveries' content next to him on the desk. He starts furiously scribbling a questionable drawing of a stick man with crazy hair on a skateboard flying to his demise probably. (It may or may not be Matt.)

Liam squints at the morbid picture and raises an inquiring eyebrow.

“So,” he starts, leaning his arms atop the front desk. “You're head over arse for Harry, then?” Liam says, but it’s not really a question.

Louis glances up and puts on his best scowl. His best mask, if you will, and wordlessly turns up the volume of  _Love Will Tear Us Apart_ because Joy Division’s depressing lyrics speak to him like no other when life is shit.

“Jesus,” Liam mutters, rolling his eyes.

Louis carries on doodling, trying to ward off and swat away Liam’s concerned brown eyes and his affectionate poking. If he wants to be dramatic, he will be dramatic, thank you.

“Oi, I’m trying to talk to you, pest.”

“I don’t want to talk,” Louis grumbles.

“Well, we’re going to." Liam gives him a shove. "You _like_ Harry, so ask him out and stop wallowing. What’s stopping you? He obviously likes you too.”

“Please. He acts like that with everyone. Last night was quite evident of that,” Louis mumbles, stopping a moment to tighten the string on his hoodie, and he flips his hood up to wallow more visibly. Liam pulls it back down again.

“You’ll scare off the customers looking like that,” Liam chides.

“Good. I can’t handle another bunch of brats coming in here looking for 5 Seconds of Soup or Justin Beaver.”

“Louis, don’t be mean,” Liam frowns. “Every customer counts no matter what their music taste might be,” Liam says, and Louis almost smirks at his stilted voice, forcing the words out in order to stay neutral. Ever the peacemaker is his Liam.

Louis drops his Sharpie and rubs his hands over his face. “I’m pretty sure he’s not into me anymore, Liam. If he ever was. We said we’d make great friends and we are. We have so much fun together, and it’s so easy, you know? And yeah sometimes it can be a bit flirty and tactile and stuff and yeah, sometimes he’ll look at me this certain way, like all fond and soft, like he can’t take his eyes off me. But maybe I’m reading too much into it? Seeing things I want to see?”

“I don’t think you’re reading into it too much, Lou. I think you’re seeing exactly what’s there. I think you guys would be great together.” Liam brushes the knuckles of his closed fist against Louis’ scruff scattered cheek. “I think he might even be your person,” Liam says earnestly.

“Oh, Liam, don’t say that,” Louis pleads.

“I really believe it though. Just take a chance and make your feelings clear. You won’t be disappointed,” Liam smiles. “He’s probably thinking the same as you, since you left with James last night. He's probably got the wrong idea now, genius.”

“It doesn’t matter anyway. He's probably going out with Matt as we speak,” Louis says miserably. He tries very hard not to wish a hoard of bad luck on the lucky guy who gets to whisk Harry off his feet, and absorb the sound of his giggles, and eat up his gorgeous dimples and bask in the addictive scent of his pale neck.

“Nah, surely not?” Liam says, brows furrowing in confusion. 

Louis sighs loudly, dramatically, switching into a groan, and of course that’s when Harry walks in, looking like a vision of love as Mariah would say.

Harry is tentative, uncertain as he steps over the threshold and quietly closes the door, hands flexing almost obsessively.

“I’ll, uh. I’ll check the stock in the back,” Liam says, taking the clipboard and sending a knowing look Louis’ way as he goes.

Harry strides forward and stops an appropriate length from the desk where Louis is perched on the stool, swallowed up by his huge burgundy hoodie. “Hi,” he greets quietly, a small smile forming.

“Hi,” Louis says, breath caught on how beautiful Harry looks, bundled up in a thick woolly coat in charcoal, his (borrowed, as Harry always tells him) Burberry scarf wrapped around his neck and caressing the bottom of his chin. His face is creamy white, enunciated more by his chestnut curls that appear more messy and tangled today, but still so lovely.

Green eyes stare at Louis expectantly, and are perhaps a tad anxious, feet placed inwards as one innocently overlaps his other boot.

Like the wonderful little snowflake that he is.

“Lousy hangover this morning then? Or afternoon now rather,” Louis tries to tease, but his voice just sounds gruff and flat.

“Yeah, could say that,” Harry says even gruffer. “It was an... eventful night, shall we say?” He gives Louis a tentative smile.

“For you definitely, mate. You were the life of the party. Literally every person in the room was hanging off you like a koala bear by the end of the night. Matt in particular seemed quite taken with you.” He knows his voice sounds bitter but can’t be arsed to disguise it.

“Yeah,” is all Harry says, shifting uncomfortably. He waits a few silent beats before he says, “I missed you last night," he all but whispers. "I texted you. Several times," he chuckles airily but it's half-hearted, "but I guess you were asleep?"

"Oh, yeah. I was really tired," Louis lies. He read them and thought about them all night long, convinced he'd fallen in unrequited love like the heartsick fool he is.

Louis' heart twists painfully at this weird, hesitant air between them. He's not used it. He doesn't like it. Especially not the wistful expression on Harry's face.

"I’m sorry we stayed so long. It was rude of us. It was your flat. You probably just wanted to go to bed.”

“It's fine, Harry," Louis shrugs. "You weren't responsible for the rest of them. Niall's the one I blame." Harry presses his lips together, eyes and face still both cheerless. God. How does he make it stop? "Went to a mate’s not long after _Twister_ arrived, anyway. I stayed over there.”

“I noticed," Harry says quietly, gaze falling to the floor.

Louis scoffs. “I doubt it. You looked like you were having lots of fun with or without me there.”

He means it as a joke but Harry practically blanches, face twisting into something like guilt, it looks like? Louis’ not sure why, as it seemed pretty clear last night Harry was enjoying himself. Which is fine. Obviously. 

"Which you have every night to have, by the way," Louis cautiously makes sure he knows. "It's not like we're dating is it?" Harry's eyes snap back up. "We're friends."

"Friends?" Harry echoes, brows pinched.

"Yeah," Louis nods. Aren't they? "We are, right? Best friends, even," he smiles. "Just don't tell Niall or Liam."

Harry hesitates before he settles on, "Yeah, of course we are."

But still, the words press uneasily against Louis’ innards. The need to know for sure if anything happened with Matt gnawing at him. “What about you and Matt then? Going on a date?” 

Harry’s brows furrow deeper, denting the creamy skin between his immaculate eyebrows. “No? I mean, if he asked me last night, I don’t... I honestly don’t remember. We just had some fun, I think."

_'Some fun'._

“Fun?"

"Yeah, we got on well."

"Right," Louis says curtly.

Harry takes a step closer. “So, um," he says, clearing his throat. "This mate’s you went to last night. Was it James'?” 

Harry saw them leave. He knows exactly who he went home with. 

“Yeah, as it happens. Did you not know?” Louis asks, tentative. Because, is Harry what he thinks he is?

"Well, you didn't tell me you were leaving," Harry says quietly, and Louis thinks he can hear a tinge of hurt. Harry shrugs, moving on. “You guys seemed like you got on really well last night, too." Harry pauses. "I think he likes you,” Harry says carefully, watching Louis closely, his face still etched in dejection. 

Is Harry _jealous_? 

"Nah, I don't think so," Louis brushes off. "I went to university with him. He's a mate, really," Louis insists, because now that Harry evidently cares that he went home with James, he can't keep up this weird atmosphere a second longer. "I mean, I think he used to have a crush on me, but that's it," he insists. A look of misery still passes over Harry's face at that. Louis curses himself for even mentioning it. “He doesn’t anymore,” he adds hurriedly. Louis sighs and Harry's eyes re-focus, swallowing visibly. "Harry," he says helplessly. 

"Yeah?" Harry breathes, eyes suddenly alert, awaiting. 

Louis' just about to bite the bullet and pour his feelings all over the table like the pathetic, smitten pile of goo he is, when the bell rings, and in walks James.

"Hey, Lou. Oh, Harry, hi, alright?" James smiles pleasantly, his sandy hair flopping into his eyes and walks over to the front desk where Harry stands, his face now hardened and posture rather standoffish. He eyes James warily.

"Brilliant," Harry deadpans.

Okay.

Harry is definitely jealous. He's going to have to put a stop to this stupid misunderstanding because Harry is practically glaring at James, who clears his throat awkwardly, but then who walks in next but fucking Stupid Hair himself.

"Oh, hey guys!" Matt greets, obnoxiously loud and Louis wants to chuck him out this second. "Louis, I didn't know you worked here?"

"Yep," he says, pops the 'p'.

The four of them hover in an uncomfortably charged atmosphere of unsaid things and awkward tension. James is first to break the silence and Louis says a mental thanks, widening his eyes and sending James a loaded look. Harry though, accidentally catches it. Shit. That's all he needs. Harry stands there, brows furrowing deeper and his bottom lip protruding slightly, bringing up his arms up to fold them defensively over his chest.

Oh dear. Pouty Harry is making an appearance.

"I was just wondering what Lou was up to. What are you guys here for? Same?" James asks, trying his best to sound casual but it fails. Harry glares. Jesus.

Thankfully, Matt quickly take over the stilted conversation. But when he realises Matt appears to be trying to ask Harry out, he wishes he hadn't spoken at all. Louis almost chokes when Matt says,"So, I actually came to see if Harry was about. You mentioned you liked it here, yeah?" he says, eager eyes on Harry.

"Yeah," Harry agrees, voice stiff. "I do."

"Great! So I thought I'd take my chances and see if I could catch you," he grins.

Harry stares blankly. "Right."

"Oh," Louis can't help but slip out. Harry's head whips round to look at him.

"And I've found you, evidently. So I wanted to ask you out for a drink sometime? Like tonight perhaps?" Matt stands there, hopeful gaze on Harry, whose face twists into a grimace.

Matt seems to realise what that means, though. Wow. He's not as dense as Louis first thought. "You're not interested, are you?"

This is just splendidly awkward on all counts.

Harry's eyes find Louis', wearing an unreadable expression. 

"No, no. It's fine. I mean, yeah. No, I think that would be nice. What time did you want to meet?"

And what the fuck?

"Oh, awesome! Um. Like, about seven? Good with you?"

"Good with me," Harry confirms, smiling at last.

Louis stares at the scene in horror.

"Well, now that I've run into you, how about some lunch? Guys? You coming as well?" Matt politely asks, though Louis can tell by his face he'd much prefer Harry to himself.

Fuck, this is terrible.

Louis wants to wriggle under his bed covers and cry. "Nah, you're alright. You guys go," Louis insists, faking his best smile.

Harry makes to leave with Matt and Louis panics. "I'll talk to you later, yeah, Harry?" he calls out, voice sounding completely pitiful. Harry glances over his shoulder immediately, face softening infinitesimally.

"Yeah, 'course. Speak to you later, Lou," he smiles, lips pressed together, eyes sad.

The door shuts behind them.

"Oh, for god's sake," James groans. "You two are unbelievable."

Louis chucks a screwed up ball of paper at his face.

**

Louis wakes to a buzz on his nightstand. 

_How do you organize a space party?_

Louis blinks as he stares at his bright screen, smiles underneath his duvet.

_I don't know, Harold..._

Buzz.

_You planet_

Louis bites down on his grin.

Buzz.

_Duh_

Buzz.

_:)_

Another buzz.

_Miss you x_

Louis squeezes his eyes shut and puts his phone back on the nightstand, heart constricting. 

It's been a week since he saw Harry last, what with Harry knees deep in his case studies and the numerous thousands of words he has to type up for his assignments. So it's not just because Harry's seemingly been going on dates with Matt and has been visiting the shop less and less over the last couple of weeks.

Louis hopes it's not, at least.

It's been torture.

So, Louis grabs his phone again and types out an honest response.

_I miss you too, Harry xx_

It only takes a second for Harry's reply to come through.

_:( xxxx_

Then another.

_See you soon? xx_

_Of course, as soon as you're done with your exams we'll celebrate x_

_I'll hold you to that_

_Night Lou :) xxx_

_Goodnight Harold_

Louis drifts asleep to _Dizzy on the Comedown_ playing softly on his record player, dreams of brown curls, green eyes and a smile that could part cloudy skies.

**

Thunder rumbles darkly in the distance and a torrential downpour abruptly begins to hurtle down onto the pavement, rain splashing every which way, soaking the asphalt and quickly drowning the drains.

Louis zips up his jacket crossly and pulls up his hood, scowling at the weather he has to trek home in. He slams the record shops’ door harder than necessary, double locking it and shoves the keys into his jean pocket. He does up the string of his hoodie, not that it'll make a difference and trudges through the deepening puddles, his Vans soaking through the very not-waterproof canvas material with every other step, when a familiar, frantic voice calls over the deafening sound of the rain, furiously thrashing against the ground. It sounds like smashed shards of glass being showered over the roads, it’s that loud.

Louis swirls around, squinting with wet eyelashes sticking together and blurring his vision, completely drenched.

“Louis!”

“Harry?” he calls, eyebrows furrowed.

Harry sprints towards him, long limbs flailing, the heels of his boots clanking as he splashes through the puddles and stops in front of Louis, chest heaving and slightly out of breath. “Alright?”

Louis stares. “Alright?” he repeats, indignant. “It’s fucking bucketing down, so no, I’m not alright as it happens, Harold!”

Harry rolls his eyes, smirking. "I've finished my exams! Handed everything in, all done and dusted for this year," he grins.

"That's great, Harry," he grins back.

"Just have to celebrate now."

"With Matt?" Louis blurts. 

All he can is the rain for a good few seconds.

"What?" Harry frowns.

"Well, you've been seeing him lately, right? Surely he'll want to take you out?"

A look of frustration passes over Harry’s dripping, pale face. “He's not... I don’t have a boyfriend, Louis," he shouts over the rain which is somehow growing even louder. "I'm not dating anybody. And I wasn't even really dating Matt either."

“What?” Louis shouts back.

Because what _did_ he say?

“Matt! I’m not seeing him, okay? We just hung out because—well, because—” Harry momentarily closes his eyes and huffs out a breath. “I thought I didn’t have a chance with you.”

Louis swallows, probably a pint of rain water at this rate too, but he gulps hard, heart beating wildly in his chest.

“How could you think you never had a chance with _me_? I thought I was the one who didn’t have a chance with you! I thought you just wanted to be friends?”

"No, Lou," Harry half whines, half laughs.

Louis just stares.

Are they finally reaching the same page?

"Well, why have you been hanging out with Matt then?"

“After the party, I thought you’d gone back to James’ and you know—” Harry shrugs, embarrassed.

“Slept with him?” Louis says, incredulous. “How did you come to that conclusion?”

“Well, you looked really close with him that night? Every time I looked over, you were both laughing and joking and all touchy-feely," Harry frowns.

"So were you and Matt, though?" Louis points out.

"No, he was!" Harry protests. "I was just humouring him, being polite. And then the next day when James turned up at the shop, I just...I thought you’d given up with me, so I kind of used Matt a bit, I suppose,” Harry admits, cheeks blushing crimson. “I know that was shit of me. I guess I wanted to make you jealous?" Harry runs a hand over his dripping face. "Ugh! I’m such a pathetic idiot!”

“Yes, you are, Harry!” Louis shouts, a smirk finding its way onto his freezing wet face. Good God. Have they honestly been dancing around each other this whole time? Louis wants to punch himself in the face. He hates misunderstandings and unnecessary drama and he's been living all this out for weeks, oblivious. 

Harry’s confused brows soften infinitesimally. “It was me, you know.” Harry says, as the rain starts to calm down.

“What was?” 

“The blind date. The date you thought you got stood up on. Well, I guess you still were stood up. But I had no idea it was you!"

"It was you?" Louis blinks. "The date that Liam set me up on?"

"Yeah. Ed planned it with him. He told me for sure the night we were at Matt's party? You know, when I disappeared for a bit?"

It's been Harry all along.

Louis could start hysterically laughing right about now.

Harry takes a step forward, pushing his sopping hair back, a knowing smile spreading over those flushed cheeks. "But I didn’t know it was probably you I was meant to have had the date with until you mentioned Ed. And I’d just met you the night before and I was kicking myself because I thought I wasn’t going to ever see you again. And I was hooked, Louis. Already. I’d only spent a couple of hours with you and you were all I thought about on the drive home. And when Ed sprung the date on me, well, I didn’t want to go because I wanted to see you. I wanted to date you, not some guy my mate was setting me up with.”

“You did?” Louis’ heart is aflutter with nerves and God, he just wants to kiss him now. Do what he's wanted to do since the moment he laid his eyes on him.

“I do,” Harry nods frantically. “I want to date you. I really, really,  _really like_ you, Louis. So much.”

"Don't start singing Carly Rae Jepsen to me, Harry," he warns, eyes crinkling because he's so so _happy_. Harry laughs. “We’ve been idiots, haven’t we?” Louis grins, raindrops leaving tracks down his freezing cheeks like tears. Happy tears. If he were crying, that is. Which he isn’t.

“Massive idiots,” Harry agrees, smiling back those bright, green eyes.

They stare at each other, soaking up each other’s starry-eyed smiles, and soaking up the rain, and soaking up each other in general.

Harry moves forward until they’re almost chest to chest, close enough that their cold noses are almost touching. “I’m going to kiss you now,” Harry rumbles with a dimpled smile.

“Yeah,” Louis breathes, lost in Harry’s scent, the sound of his breathing, his everything. “Do what you must, I suppose. Oh, and by the way, I adore you, Harry Styles, if that wasn't yet obvious."

And then Harry catches Louis’ lips in one swift motion, and kisses him, swallowing Louis’ gasp as their mouths move in unison effortlessly, fervently. Louis kisses him with gusto and Harry’s breath hitches—Louis gives a figurative fist bump to himself—and his cold hands come up to frame Louis’ face, gentle and reverent as though he thinks Louis’ a fragile, precious thing that might break and shatter before him if he makes even one clumsy move.

Harry kisses Louis back with zealous enthusiasm, almost feverish as he connects his mouth to Louis’ again and again, breathing in through his nose until he reluctantly pulls away to breathe, taking Louis’ breath with him, his own hands tangled in Harry’s soaking hair.

Harry breathes out, eyes closed, one hand playing with the hair at the back of Louis’ head. “I’ve wanted to do that since the moment I saw you at your car window with a cigarette obnoxiously hanging out of your mouth,” Harry mumbles, a grin in his voice.

Louis laughs. 

Cold hands then find Louis’ neck and he wraps his arms around Harry’s waist, pressing them together until there isn’t an inch between them, and they kiss, kiss, kiss, and it rains, rains, rains until they finally pull back for air, grinning as they nuzzle each other's cold cheeks.

“You know,” Louis starts, because he can’t resist pointing it out, “if you’d have just turned up to our blind date that Saturday, you could have saved us both a lot of time and trouble.”

Harry groans and buries his face in Louis’ neck which immediately turns into laughter. He pulls back, sliding his hands to Louis’ waist, and Louis' arms hold onto his shoulders. “But then everything that happened wouldn’t have happened, would it? It was meant to be either way, Louis. It’s serendipity,” he says proudly, eyes sparkling.

“A series of very fortunate accidents.”

“Exactly. But technically, I still was your blind date in the end though. You just didn't know it."

Louis rolls his eyes and pulls a beaming Harry in again, and they kiss until they’re both shivering with it, kiss until the rain stops, and the sun breaks free of the parting clouds, and a rainbow appears like magic in the surfacing blue sky.

It looks like love.

 _Fin_.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!! <33 I hope it wasn't too disappointing?? 
> 
> I will cherish you forever if you leave me a comment or kudos :) xx


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